


Wild

by kwrites2222



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-03-12 09:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwrites2222/pseuds/kwrites2222
Summary: You can take the girl out of Stonebear Hold, but you can't take the Stonebear Hold out of the girl.





	1. A Raven From the Lowlands

**Author's Note:**

> _I hear a voice calling  
>  Calling out for me  
> These shackles I’ve made in an attempt to be free  
> Be it for reason, be it for love  
> I won’t take the easy road_  
> \- From “My Silver Lining” by First Aid Kit

Lady, Thane Sun-Hair felt proud.

It was a feeling she had mostly forsaken: pride was blinding and closed off hearts to the true ways of the world. Pride was corrupting. Pride was a way of the lowlanders. But today… today was different.

The air felt lighter and warmer in the Hold, so Thane Sun-Hair was not surprised to receive the news: it had come on the leg of a messenger of the skies, warmed by sun and battered by the wind. Korth Mountain-Father had willed it, Sigfrost had guided it, and the Lady had delivered it. The lowlanders had a ridiculous word for it: kismet.

A proud moment indeed. Perhaps the Jaws of Hakkon would take pause of their continued idiocy upon hearing this news: a daughter of Stonebear Hold, delivered alive from the Land of the Lady, leading men, and securing her place in history. That would secure any doubt in their minds that Stonebear was the superior Hold.

Svarah sighed deeply and waved the missive in the air, sitting up straighter in her throne, “News about the tear in the sky: they’re calling her the ‘Herald’ of change. To think: one of our own… a saviour of the lowlanders.”

Beside her, Rolfsen huffed, " _Her_?” He looked over her shoulder at the missive and she heard the smile on his face. “Huh! Anja's daughter causing trouble again?"

Svarah smirked at him. "She's doing more than that. What else would you expect of the girl?"

Rolfsen smiled fondly. "Aye, I reckon you're onto something. Does it say when we can be expecting her?"

Svarah frowned. "I don't think she'll be back for some time. It sounds like she's got more than enough to deal with in the lowlands."

Rolfsen's disappointment was evident, and Svarah placed a gentle, comforting hand on his arm. "I know you thought she was yours, Rolfsen, but she's got lowlander blood, too. If they need her down there, we can wait our turn."

Svarah remembered when Catherine was born; it was just after the final harvest a great storm had blown in, as fierce as Hakkon Wintersbreath himself. The snow tore through the Hold like sharp pinpricks on exposed skin, the wind a formidable enemy, and the cold… she shuddered at the memory: the cold was unlike anything Svarah had experienced before or since. It was bone-chilling, felt through even the thickest of pelts, and it had caused the Hold to come to a complete stand-still. Of course, Anja had gone into labour at the peak of the storm, her screams muffled by the roar of the winds, but only barely.

And, then, as soon as the wee baby Catherine had emerged, the storm had just simply… quit. The wind ceased roaring, the snow began to fall peacefully, and the cold lifted as the sun shone through the clouds. Catherine hadn’t even cried, but had simply babbled at her mother, yawning and stretching. And then she’d opened her eyes, looking around as if she’d seen it all before. The gods were watching Stonebear Hold in that exact moment, showing their favour for the birth of _her_ , the youngest daughter of the Hold ever to be bestowed upon a legendmark.

 _Her_. The little _Stormtamer._


	2. Well, Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Generals gathered in their masses  
>  Just like witches at black masses  
> Evil minds that plot destruction  
> Sorcerers of death's construction  
> In the fields the bodies burning  
> As the war machine keeps turning  
> Death and hatred to mankind  
> Poisoning their brainwashed minds_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \- From “War Pigs” by Black Sabbath

Cullen sunk his blade deep into the green Terror in front of him, his ears close to bleeding from the horrid screech the thing emitted as it dissipated back into the rift. He’d fought demons of the like before, but Terrors… Terrors were new.

He saw movement in his peripheral vision, and before he could act, there was a flash of auburn hair in front of him and the sound of a perfectly-placed arrow slicing through the air and embedding deep into the chest of the Terror that was about to pounce on him from behind. As soon as the Terror dissipated into the rift, she turned towards it, her hand outstretched and glowing, and green light poured from it. Cullen watched, completely enraptured by the incredibly unusual sight, as she yanked her hand backwards and the rift exploded into nothing and continued to stare, still stunned, as the elven apostate Solas approached her, and suddenly realized that the woman was the prisoner from the Temple.

"Lady Cassandra," Cullen finally managed to utter, "you managed to close the rift. Well done."

"It wasn't me, Commander. This was the prisoner's doing," Cassandra replied, motioning towards the woman.

Cullen felt the gasp catch in his throat as the prisoner turned towards him. Her shoulder-length, auburn hair fell into her face in soft waves, and she pushed it away to reveal a pair of the most stunningly beautiful eyes Cullen had ever seen: they were as green as polished emeralds, but they were freckled with bits of deep blue and tinges of yellow. They reminded him of the water as the sun hit it in the lake at Crestwood at sunrise.

As he walked towards her, his eyes trained on her face, the unmistakable scent of cloves hit him, and he was taken back to Crestwood yet again: the memory of the taste of his mother's cinnamon apple pie still on his lips before he left for templar training.

He found his words eventually: "Is it? I hope they're right about you: we've lost a lot of good people getting you here."

The prisoner's - Trevelyan, he'd been told - eyes got even bigger, and she looked up at him through her thick, dark eyelashes. _Maker_ , she was beautiful.

"You're not the only one hoping that," she answered, the ghost of a smile on her face, but he saw through it to the doubt and horror within them.

In an instant, Cullen wanted to comfort her, to tell her that she could do it, but he was allowing this intense, premature attraction to her get in the way of keeping a level head. And the Inquisition's Commander certainly couldn't afford to be distracted by a pretty face... not now, anyways.

He narrowed his eyes and feigned indifference. "We'll see, won't we?" Cullen turned to Cassandra, tearing his eyes away from the prisoner, "The way to the Temple is clear. Leliana will try to meet you there. Maker watch over you, for all our sakes."

****

"But _who_ is she?" Cassandra asked Leliana, rubbing the spot between her eyes wearily and leaning heavily on the war table between them. "You said that she is a Trevelyan, a noble. Varric has told us that they are a very influential family in Ostwick, but he has had no personal dealings with them. Can we count on their support or their opposition?"

"I do not believe we have to worry about them," Leliana replied calmly, "From what I have gathered, she isn't on the best of terms with her parents, but she is close with most of her siblings. There are rumours that she may be the illegitimate child of Bann Trevelyan and a hidden lover."

Josephine let out a frustrated sigh, “But they _would_ be a powerful ally. The Trevelyans are an extensive family, her father is a prominent figure in Ostwick, and her mother has many beneficial connections in Orlais. _Including_ a strong friendship with the Empress.”

Cassandra snorted and rolled her eyes.

"What else do you know about her?" Cullen tried to ask casually, but he'd oversold it. 

Leliana gave him a questioning look coupled with a smirk. "I have prepared a dossier that will be delivered to each of you later this afternoon. Any word on her condition?"

"Stable. Adan says she is resting now and should awaken shortly. I've asked one of the elves to check on her," Cassandra responded flippantly, her eyes trained on the table. 

"What are you thinking, Cassandra?" Leliana asked.

"They are calling her the Herald of Andraste and... I _believe_ it," Cassandra murmured quietly, "I have this… feeling that she is… _just_ the kind of person Andraste would choose."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably and Leliana smirked again, "You should read the dossier before coming to any conclusions. But I believe that you are correct: she is not guilty of anything other than perhaps being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or perhaps she was exactly where she was supposed to be?" Cassandra shot back.

Leliana sighed and her head slumped forward slightly. "We will see," was all she said.

Though there wasn't much tension in the room, Cullen felt the need to remove himself and return to his duties. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable speaking of the Herald without her present, and he found his mind completely occupied with the memory of her face.

 

 


	3. Something Important Left Unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If I can’t evade my fate  
>  Then I won’t sit around and wait  
> A fallen star will be thy faith  
> And call you by your ancient names_
> 
> \- From “Ancient Name” by Lord Huron

Leliana's messenger delivered the final dossier to him in the training yard a few days after the Herald and company had left for the Hinterlands, and he excused himself to his tent, leaving his Lieutenant to oversee training. He liked Daniel, but he could almost smell the lyrium on the lieutenant's breath, and he wanted to spend as much time away from the man as he possibly could, so the dossier was a perfect excuse.

Haven had been an adequate place to start the Inquisition, but, as news of the Herald and her actions at the Temple of Sacred Ashes spread, they were receiving more people every hour, and Cullen feared that they would soon become too big for their britches. Maker, the Herald wasn’t even Andrastian, but was attracting masses upon masses of the prophet’s faithful.

They were the same faithful that had lined up just to get a look at the Herald after she’d awakened, murmuring among themselves about her and how she'd save the world, how she'd been saved by Andraste herself, how she was the harbinger of peace, and (his favourite) how she was able to keep her hair out of her face in the brisk mountain winds. These were the same people who had gone from being enraged to enraptured with her within the span of a few days.

They’d met briefly in the War Room after the Herald woke up, and Cassandra had been positively beaming at her at the beginning of this initial meeting, looking at her as if she was a glowing, ethereal goddess, but that had quickly changed after the Herald’s flippant demeanour towards meeting Mother Giselle and the Chantry in particular. Once the Herald had called the Chantry a “House of Fanatics” and had asked Leliana if Mother Giselle was “a purveyor of the usual Chantry lunacy”, Cassandra’s face had fallen completely, and the vein in her forehead began to throb. They’d left for the Hinterlands soon afterwards, and Cullen swore he had seen Cassandra punch one of the chanter stands on her way out of the building. He was looking forward to hearing how their meeting with Mother Giselle had gone.

The dossier was surprisingly large, but Cullen had known Leliana long enough to be unsurprised at her prowess of information gathering anymore; however, as he read the words written carefully on the brown parchment, a small smile began to form on his lips. Perhaps Leliana’s people couldn’t find _everything._

**_For Inquisition advisors Cmdr. Cullen Rutherford, Lady Josephine Montilyet, Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, Lady Nightingale:_ **

**_Name:_ ** _Catherine (aka. Kate) A. Trevelyan_

**_Born:_ ** _9:13 Dragon (disputed, please see notes)_

**_Birthplace:_ ** _Disputed, please see notes_

**_Father:_ ** _Bann Jason Ivor Trevelyan III_

**_Mother:_ ** _Disputed, please see notes_

**_Siblings (listed in chronological birth order):_ **

_Lady Brynn Anastasia van Markham (married to Lord Cadman van Markham of Nevarra), born 8:99 Blessed_

_Lord Jason Ivor Trevelyan IV (unmarried), born 9:01 Dragon_

_Marquise Miranda Georgette Beauchamp (married to Marquis Piètre Beauchamp de Brittany), born 9:03 Dragon_

_Brother Lawrence Kevin Trevelyan (deceased - see notes), born 9:10 Dragon_

_Ser Paul Frederick Trevelyan of the Templar Order (whereabouts currently unknown), born 9:15 Dragon_

**_Notes:_ **

_Nightingale,_

_We are unsure if Bann Trevelyan's wife of 35 years, Lady Georgette Philippa Trevelyan (née de Châtillon) is Kate's biological mother, though we can be certain that she is the biological mother of Kate's siblings. Rampant rumours are that Kate is the love child of Bann Trevelyan and an unknown woman, and these rumours are fuelled by the fact that Kate was not ever seen in public in Ostwick until she was seventeen. Also, agents have been unable to verify Kate's place of birth as there are no records of her existing in Ostwick until 9:30 Dragon. Another thing to note is the difference in appearance between Kate and her siblings: her siblings all have brown eyes and blond hair like their mother. I will continue to investigate the rumours surrounding her parentage._

_Her brother Lawrence was set to become a high chancellor of the Chantry and accompanied Kate to the Conclave, but perished in the explosion. Of course, he was unmarried._

_Sister Nightingale, the following has been compiled primarily for the information that you and Lady Montiliyet specifically requested:_

_Kate has a reputation in Ostwick as a bit of a rebel, and has repeatedly denied the Chantry and its teachings. Publicly, in some instances. Her brother, Jason IV, is set to become the Head of House Trevelyan within the year, and rumour has it that he sent her to the Conclave with Lawrence to see if any of the noble families’ present would make an offer of marriage, as he is believed to feel her unfit for Chantry service._

_It may also be pertinent to note that ‘Kate’ is a nickname for ‘Catherine’ and these two names have been used interchangeably, but in different circles. Casually, she is known as ‘Kate’, but in the Ostwick court she is referred to exclusively as ‘Catherine’. It may be an attempt to distinguish her from her rebellious reputation outside of the court, though this is purely speculation._

_She is also known for her beautiful singing voice and was rumoured to have trained to be a bard. This could have been where she picked up her skill with a bow and arrow, though we cannot find record of her having been trained in combat. Indeed, those who have seen her fight have said that her combat style is unlike any they've ever seen. They describe it in three words: cunning, brutal, and elegant._

_This is slightly troubling. We cannot find records of Kate ever having being trained in combative arts, and…_

Cullen put down the papers and sighed, running his hand through his hair. He'd read the words on the page, but all he'd actually retained was that she'd denied the Chantry and the word _'rebellious'_. To him, that spelled only one thing: trouble, but, then, the Inquisition had made an enemy of the Chantry anyways.

"Excuse me, Commander?" He looked up to see one of Leliana’s messengers standing awkwardly in the open doorway of his tent.

"Yes?"

"Seeker Cassandra and the Herald have returned from the Hinterlands."

"Thank you.”

“The Seeker has requested an emergency meeting with all Inquisition advisors post haste.”

Cullen arched a brow at Jim. “Is everything all right?”

Jim bit his lip. “She seems a little more… flustered than usual, ser.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Cullen chuckled, wondering how many inanimate objects Cassandra had punched on her way back to Haven.

****

 _Is it warm in here?_ Cullen shuffled his feet awkwardly and cleared his throat, resisting the urge to pick up one of his pieces from the war table and play with it while they waited for the Herald.

Cassandra still hadn’t told them why she’d called the emergency meeting; she was just standing there, seething, her nostrils flaring and her jaw tightly clenched. 

He sighed loudly. It was becoming increasingly evident that Cassandra had an issue with the Herald’s behaviour, as if Kate had shattered the ‘perfect’ image that Cassandra had had in her mind. Now, there was no doubt.

The fact that Andraste's "chosen" didn't even believe in the Maker was something Cassandra took incredibly personally, and Cullen suspected the Herald's sarcastic, quick wit especially only grated Cassandra's nerves further. Before Cassandra had stormed into the room, Leliana had told Cullen and Josephine that, almost immediately after they’d returned from the Hinterlands, Cassandra had barged through the Chantry and declared that an emergency meeting was "past due".

"Cassandra, _now_ will you please tell us what this is about?" Leliana asked carefully.

Cassandra stayed her position, staring down the door. "The Herald is late... what a surprise."

"Cassandra..." Cullen began, but the door to the War Room whipped open before he could finish.

The Herald entered the room, dressed casually in clean clothes, but there were dark circles under her eyes, dirt streaked her face, and Cullen swore that he saw dried blood in her hair.

Josephine's eyes widened at her appearance. "Herald, did you-"

The Herald held up a silencing hand. " _Please_ call me anything but 'Herald'."

"Lady Trevelyan, I-" Josephine tried again, but the Herald gave her a pained smile. 

"How about just calling me 'Kate'? I'm not a Herald of anything, and ‘Lady Trevelyan’ is my stepmother,” Kate snapped.

Josephine pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Fine. _Kate_ , did you walk through the Chantry looking like _that_?"

Kate stared down at herself and smiled sheepishly up at Josephine. "Well... yeah."

Josephine's lips pressed tighter together. "Past our visiting dignitaries? The Orlesian nobles we're _trying_ to strike accords with?"

Kate looked as if she was going to apologize, but she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I’ve just got back from the Hinterlands and was about to bathe for the first time in a week when I got a runner about this 'emergency meeting'. I figured that, if I didn't show up to this _meeting_ in a timely manner, the Seeker here would chew my head off." 

Cassandra snorted and rolled her own eyes. "And what makes you think I won't anyways?"

Cullen sighed again and rubbed the space between his eyes. "Enough! Cassandra, will you _finally_ tell us what this is about?"

The Seeker didn't look at him, but glared at Kate so fiercely Cullen was certain that the Herald might burst into fire. Unsurprisingly, Kate didn't flinch or back down, but returned Cassandra's stare steadily, a small smirk on her face. 

"You haven't been completely honest with us, have you, _Kate_?" Cassandra began, "I always thought something was off about you, but now I know for certain."

Kate was silent. 

Leliana stared at Cassandra in horror. "Now isn't the time to throw wild accusations around, and-"

"You _lied_!" Cassandra shouted, advancing on Kate until her pointer finger embedded in Kate's clavicle. "You're not from Ostwick. You're a wildling!"

Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen collectively gaped at the two women. The room was still and the air thick for a moment until Kate finally broke the silence, "I never lied to you."

"What _are_ you?" Cassandra shouted again, "Chasind? Avvar? You’re a _barbarian_!"

"Cassandra, that's _enough_!" Leliana interjected.

Cassandra's eyes were wild. "I knew it the _minute_ we arrived in the Hinterlands. I _knew_. You lied!"

Kate was calm and simply shrugged. "I never said I was from Ostwick."

"What?" Josephine and Leliana asked in unison, each woman clearly bewildered. Cullen was still trying to process the last outburst. 

Kate turned to them, and Cullen swore he saw a corner of her mouth twitch. "My mother raised me until I was seventeen. Not far from here, actually. My father  _is_  Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, but my mother… uh, she was Avvar."

Cullen tried to catch Josephine before she hit the ground.


	4. A Hatchet to Bury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _None of us are saints  
>  I guess we’re all the same  
> But you were supposed to be different_
> 
> \- From “You Were Supposed To Be Different” by Aron Wright

Josephine awoke in her bed, a cool cloth on her forehead, and the Herald sitting beside her, her nose buried in a book.

She stirred and the Herald jumped. "Oh, Josephine! I’m sorry.”

Josephine blinked at her, “Lady Trevelyan?”

“Kate, remember?”

“Of course,” Josephine groaned, sitting up in the bed, pulling the cloth from her head slowly. She blinked heavily at Kate.

“What happened?”

Kate looked at her sheepishly. “I, ah, told you about my heritage and you fainted.”

“Oh,” Josephine murmured, blushing, “Right.”

Kate shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “Look, it wasn’t like I was trying to hide it. I thought you already knew.”

“We didn’t,” Josephine replied, managing to chuckle, “I’m sure Leliana is beating herself up over it, but it seems your family went to great lengths to hide it.”

Kate rolled her eyes and slumped forward in her seat, running her free hand down her face and sighing deeply, “What a surprise.”

Josephine gave her a sympathetic look and tried to lighten the mood, chuckling, “I suppose that it is… erm, _good_ that we know now.”

It worked: Kate grinned. “Good.”

There was an oddly comfortable silence between them, punctured only by the sound of Kate rustling the pages of the book she was playing with in her hands.

Josephine broke the silence timidly to ask, “If I may ask... how did you end up in Ostwick?”

“You want my life story? It’s a lot less thrilling than you think.”

“I sincerely doubt that, but I’d like to hear it regardless. Besides, I doubt that we will be able to avoid this information becoming public now that it’s known, so it’s best if I know so I can respond correctly when it inevitably comes up.”

“I’ll give you the short version, then,” Kate chuckled.

Josephine smiled at her. “Whatever you feel you’d like to share, my lady.”

Kate raised an eyebrow at Josephine, but gave her a half smile. She took a deep breath and began, “My mother’s name was Anja. She belonged to an Avvar tribe in the Frostback Basin. To make extra gold for the Hold, she was a guide for the nobles that wanted to hunt the basin wyverns, since they are said to be the fiercest and have the most dangerous poison.”

Josephine narrowed her eyes. “Truly?”

Kate shrugged. “Honestly, who knows? I always thought the nobles used hunting our wyverns as an excuse to be away from their snot-nosed families.”

Josephine rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Kate continued, “one of those nobles was my father. He charmed my mother during a hunt, and she even considered leaving with him to be his mistress before she came to her senses. A month or two after my father had returned to Ostwick, she found out she was pregnant with me.”

Josephine sat up straighter, enraptured with Kate’s story. “And? Did she tell your father?”

Kate gave a tense smile. “She... was uncertain who the father was at first. There was another man - Rolfsen - who she’d been with soon after my father, but as her pregnancy progressed, she knew that I was a Trevelyan. Rolfsen still loved her, even after she told him he wasn’t my father, and he stuck by her. Regardless, she sent a letter to my father after I was born and he sent her a gift as an acknowledgement I guess, but refused to return to the Hold to see me.”

“He didn’t even want to meet you?”

“Of course not. His illegitimate, barbarian child with a wildling woman? Besides, you have met my stepmother, right? I doubt she would have let him leave to come back to the Hold.”

“But you must have met your father _eventually_ , right? I mean, you came from Ostwick.”

Kate inhaled sharply, and dropped her eyes to the floor, fiddling with the pages of the book in her hand again. “My mother died when I was seventeen. Rolfsen tried to take over parenting duties, but he wasn’t my true father, and the Hold couldn’t collectively take on my burden... or so Thane Sun-Hair said. So they sent for my father and he came for me. If I’d been eighteen it would have been different - I’d probably still be home now.”

“Seventeen?” Josephine’s voice was filled with sympathy, “That’s so young to be so far from home.”

Kate shrugged, but her face was mired with pain. “I went back every summer. The Trevelyans were always happy to see me go, and Stonebear was always happy to see me return, so it worked out. Well… most of Stonebear.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was forced to take my father’s name, and some of the elders felt that it branded me a lowlander,” Kate spat the last word, “But the Thane disagreed. I already lost my mother - I’m thankful that I didn’t also have to lose my identity.”

Josephine gave a strangled smile and shifted uncomfortably in the spot. This was getting a bit personal, and she suspected that she was seeing behind Kate’s protective barrier. While she felt privileged to see this part of Kate, she also felt like she was looking at something she wasn’t supposed to.

Evidently, Kate felt the same way, as she straightened up and set her jaw, her eyes becoming hard and losing their glossy look. “I _hated_ Ostwick,” she hissed, “so when Lawrence said he would be attending the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I begged my oldest brother Jason to allow me to accompany him. When Jason said yes, Lawrence and I formed a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Lawrence and I would attend the Conclave together, and I would leave after the first day and make the journey back to Stonebear Hold.”

“Your brother agreed to this?”

“He was such a giving soul,” Kate choked, “He truly believed in the Maker and ‘his’ grace, and he was so kind and thoughtful. I… hope he found some peace.”

“He obviously believed in you, too.”

“He wanted me to be happy. I mean, he wasn’t fond that I was so against the Chantry and so… well, retaliatory I guess, but he was always a shoulder for me to lean on,” Kate gave an ironic laugh, “He was always my best ally against my other siblings: he and my other brother, Paul. They’d protect me from the older ones, and they were closest in age to me, so they were the only friends I had. It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Two chantry boys and me?”

Josephine didn’t respond. Not because she didn’t agree, but because she wasn’t sure how to tell the Herald that it was funny, but not in an amusing sort of way.

************

Kate watched as Cassandra’s sword slashed once, twice, ten times across the torso of the faceless training dummy, but she was certain that it was her own face that Cassandra was imagining in that blank cloth. She respected Cassandra – the Seeker’s determination, ferocity, and loyalty was extremely admirable: she would do well among the Avvar. Kate knew that Cassandra didn’t like her – they were much too different, and their ideals didn’t line up whatsoever, but she respected the hell out of the woman. If Cassandra didn’t _like_ her, then she could handle it, but she was uncomfortable feeling as if Cassandra didn’t _respect_ her. And she had a budding feeling in her gut that it was the case.

She sighed. She’d have to speak with her.

 _Try not to make it worse. Be a Trevelyan, not a barbarian._ Her stepmother’s voice echoed in her head and she set her jaw. That fucking woman would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She sighed again and retreated from the shadows and down the stairs towards the training yard towards Cassandra. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Cullen turned from speaking with one of the multiple lieutenants he had hanging around him at all times to look at her. It was only a glance, but something about it made her adrenaline spike and her heart beat faster. She was used to people, especially men, looking at her, but they were always staring at her like they wanted something: sex, money, or answers. In Ostwick she’d been a pariah, and everyone had stared at her as if she was an animal in a zoo, but not Cullen. He glanced at her with curiosity, sure, but it was without judgment. It was not something she was used to, but she liked it.

She smirked and tucked her chin as she reached Cassandra, an eyebrow cocked at how viciously the Seeker was attacking the training dummy.

“I… uh, think you need training dummies made of stronger material,” Kate quipped.

Cassandra sighed and stopped, sweating dripping from her brow as she stared at Kate.

Kate tried again, “Like maybe _iron_.”

Cassandra grunted an acknowledgement and threw her sword on the ground, walking towards the lake and crossing her arms in front of her chest, her lips pursed.

Kate approached her cautiously. “Look, Cassandra, I…”

“Did I do the right thing?” Cassandra blurted. Kate took a step back.

“What?”

“Did I do the right thing?” Cassandra repeated, “Everything I have worked for, everything I have wrought…”

Kate tilted her head and crossed her own arms, resting back on her hip. “What does your _faith_ tell you?”

Cassandra swiveled around and eyed her suspiciously. “What would you care for that?”

“Cassandra, I know that you don’t like me…”

Cassandra snorted.

Kate continued, “But if we’re going to be working closely together, then we should at least _try_ to get along. You’re going to have to learn to trust me.”

“Trust you? I know nothing about you.”

“Well… then maybe you should try getting to know me.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up, her jaw involuntarily on the floor. “Well, I… uhm, I… Leliana has collected a frightening amount of information on you.”

“Hah! Why am I not surprised?”

“But it didn’t truly _tell_ me anything. So… I suppose that… well, what would you like me to know?”

“You seemed particularly upset when my… uh, _heritage_ came to light. How much do you know about the Avvar?”

“Rumours, mostly,” Cassandra answered, shrugging.

“Let me guess; you’ve heard that we eat babies, sacrifice goats, and dance naked, covered in blood under the moonlight?”

Another cocked eyebrow from Cassandra.

Kate shrugged. “All untrue. Except, well, of course the dancing naked in the moonlight. Without the blood, I mean… most nights.”

Cassandra gave her a frustrated look and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Kate ignored the sarcasm in Cassandra’s voice and smirked, but her face became hard at her next words, “Now _Ostwick_ , that’s a place where there was none of the naked dancing, but all of the blood.”

“What do you mean? You wouldn’t go back?” The shock in Cassandra’s voice was palpable.

“No,” Kate answered automatically, her voice hard, “If I ever go back it’ll be too soon.”

Cassandra softened immediately and chuckled ironically, “I suppose I feel the same way about my family.”

“You’re not on the best of terms with them?”

Cassandra walked past her and picked up her sword again, shoving it into the torso of one of the dummies until it stuck. She looked at Kate and gave her a sly half-smile. “Do you want to get a drink?”

Kate titled her head and met Cassandra’s smile. “A drink sounds perfect.”


	5. And Her Middle Name Was Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Would you be the savior of the broken  
>  The beaten, and the damned?  
> He said, will you defeat them  
> Your demons and all the non-believers?_
> 
>  
> 
> \- From “The Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance

Cullen enjoyed living in Haven, as cramped as it was becoming. It reminded him of the happier times in the Circle at Ferelden; listening to the clang of swords in the training yard, the banter at feeding time, and the after-hours laughter and raucous sounds of intoxicated, off-duty templars. The tavern in Haven was particularly popular at night, and while he sometimes found himself frustrated at the late hours the noise persisted into, he enjoyed listening to the drunken admissions and repartee at the end of the night.

There was his lieutenant, Daniel, who had fancied one of the mages that had joined the Inquisition since they were together in the Circle at Cumberland. The mage in question was a particularly accomplished healer, and Daniel had gone on a drunken tangent about the ‘ _things he can do with his hands, man’_.

Then there was the tavern waitress who was sneaking crushed elfroot into the ales of soldiers that had returned from patrol in the Hinterlands so that they could get to sleep after what they’d seen during the mage-templar war. She would question the usually tight-lipped apothecary Adan during his four nightly ales on the correct ratio of elfroot to spindleweed to muddle to make sure that the soldiers slept through the nightmares.

And, then, there was… Kate. She wasn’t stumbling out drunk every night, but the stories about her coming from the mouths that were… were interesting.

_The Herald drank me under the table tonight! Did you see her down that ale?_

_Did you hear the Herald singing tonight? I ain’t ever heard a song like that before._

_Can you believe what the Herald told the tavern wench? Sacrificing_ goats _?_

Tonight was different, though. He laid in his bedroll in his tent, unable to sleep as per usual, his ears tuned to the nightly shenanigans. He was interested to hear what the Herald had been up to tonight, but it was already turning out to be… different.

Cassandra’s unmistakable accent seemed to boom through the night, and her slurred words filled the air. “Catherine, you are… a…”

Cullen strained to hear what the last word Cassandra said was, but he had a suspicion that it was just gibberish.

Kate’s laughter echoed in his ears. “Will you write that down for me and then sign it? I want to have a copy of it forever.”

“ _You_ are a treasure… mi _lady_. Who would’ve thought a… an _Avvar_ like you would have _so much in common_ with someone like _me?_ ” Cassandra sang in lilting tones punctuated by loud hiccups.

“I’m just a normal… _ugh, pick up your feet_ … person!” Kate grunted.

Their voices began to get fainter as he assumed they moved towards the chantry. He sat up in his bedroll and strained even harder to hear them.

“Did you leave anyone behind?”

“Where – in Ostwick? Hah! I don’t think so.”

“No, no,” Cassandra slurred, “in your Avvar… _place_.”

“Stonebear Hold? Uh…”

“Would you go back there?” Cassandra blurted loudly.

There was a long silence and Cullen rested back in his bedroll, his mind buzzing. The silence persisted, but he didn’t hear the loud clank of the chantry door, so they must not have gone inside. Instead, he heard their footsteps crunch in the snow louder and louder as they moved away from the chantry.

“Okay, Cassandra, we’re going to go down the stairs now,” Kate soothingly cooed, “One foot in front of the other. _Lady_ , how much did you drink?”

“Just… trying to keep up with you, _Kate_.”

The Herald’s sigh was loud enough that Cullen could almost feel her frustration. “Keep up? You were trying to _beat me_.”

Cassandra sputtered, “And I should have known better!”

Kate chuckled.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a cot in my cabin. You can have my bed and I’ll take the cot. Josephine will kill me if I wake them up; she’s got a meeting with some Comte in the morning. Ah, here we are.”

Cassandra’s uncharacteristically joyful giggle rang through the night and there was a THUMP that sounded like someone had leaned hard against the wooden door.

“You never answered my question,” Cassandra slurred.

“About what?”

“If you left someone behind.”

Cullen arched his back and strained to hear Kate’s answer, his muscles screaming at the contortion. It was silent for some time, and he was about to settle back into a comfortable position when Kate finally spoke:

“I left _everything_ behind.”

 

*****

Cullen had never had an easy time sleeping: he’d been trained to be a light sleeper. If there was trouble, then he was no use to his comrades if he slept through it, though he often wished that he could sleep through some trouble.

So, every dawn like clockwork, he was up out of bed and practicing his footwork in his training fatigues, swishing his sword through the air as he danced through the tents, though sometimes he hauled one of the cloth dummies out past the tents to where he wouldn’t wake the soldiers as he wailed away on it. He was often alone in his early-morning trainings, though Cassandra would join him from time to time, but he enjoyed the silence of his own thoughts. When they became too loud, he hit the dummy harder.

This morning he was hauling two dummies under in each arm in order to practice a drill that he wanted to show the warriors within the week, when one suddenly got lighter.

“Can I help you with that?”

“Heral… erm, Catherine?”

Kate smiled up at him, her face fresh and dewy and dripping with sweat. She had on none of her usual makeup, and she wore a light trouser and nothing upon her top save her bindings, a shirt tied at the arms around her waist. Her auburn hair was tied up into a plume on her head, and he noticed that her feet were tied into heavy black boots. Her strange daggers with blades that looked like arrows sat in twin holsters on each hip, and her trusty bow and quiver full of arrows was strapped to her back.

“Do you need help?” she repeated, her eyebrow raised.

“I... why not? I’d welcome the help,” Cullen relented, giving her an awkward smile.

She returned it, but with far more confidence than he. She looped her arm around the dummy and carried it effortlessly beside her as she followed him out to the open area.

“Have you already been training this morning?” he asked her.

“I went for a run and to see if I could bring a ram back for the cook, but perhaps even the rams are still sleeping.”

“I’ve heard that you’re an accomplished bow hunter.”

Kate shrugged. “I’ve hunted all of my life. Even after I was brought to Ostwick. My father was an accomplished wyvern hunter, and he often brought me along on hunts throughout Orlais. He called me his ‘secret weapon’. It was one of the few things we did together.”

They reached the clearing and set down the dummies. Cullen instructed Kate where to place them, and the she turned to leave.

“Wait... Catherine?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever shot a bow before. Would you be willing to show me?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and flashed him a wickedly bright smile. “You want _me_ to teach you?”

“If you’re willing. You seem to have such a unique way with your bow; I’ve… well, I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

She flashed an equally brilliant smile at him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Eagerly, she nodded at him. “Of course, but I only have one request.”

“And what’s that?”

Feigning seriousness, and biting her lip to keep herself from smiling, Kate unhooked her bow from its harness and stepped close to Cullen, kneeling in front of him and presenting the bow to him in mock ceremony. He chuckled briefly, but then straightened up and joined her in pretend seriousness as she shot him a look through her eyelashes.

“Ser Cullen, are you prepared to be trained in the ancient ways of the Avvar?”

He was silent until she murmured, “ _Just say 'yes'._ ”

“Oh! Yes! I mean,” he cleared his throat, “yes.”

“And do you swear that you will hold these ancient trainings sacred and honour such a sacred secret until the day that you die? If you speak a word of such trainings to lowlanders, do you promise to submit yourself to forever appeasing Hakkon Wintersbreath himself?”

He couldn't hide the chuckle this time, “Yes.”

She stood and handed him the bow, a smirk on her face. “Do you know your dominant eye?”

“My right." 

“Great, mine too. I’m glad, because this bow would be useless to you. Now,” she moved behind him and pressed herself up against his back, “put your feet in front of my feet.”

He mimicked her stance.

“Bend your knees a little bit,” she commanded, “And now for the secret that must always stay between us… curl your toes in your shoes, but only slightly.”

“Curl my _toes_? Won’t that throw me off balance?”

“At first it will, but if you can learn to balance the ‘unbalanced’, then you’ll always have a straight shot. It’s in this ‘unnatural’ state that your natural instincts take over. You’ll be more in tune with the wind and the sound of it rushing through the trees: take a deep breath now, Cullen.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, curling his toes in his shoes. Immediately, he hated it, but he focused on Kate’s words, her hot breath on his neck and the scent of cloves wafting over him, and he suddenly felt…

“The wind is coming from the southeast,” he blurted.

Kate chuckled softly behind him. “Now draw your bow. And slowly open your eyes. Concentrate only on what is in front of you; your target. Let the wind continue to speak to you; it is a help, not a hindrance. Let it guide your arrow to your target.”

Cullen followed her instructions, and was surprised to find that he was locked onto the target in front of him with tunnel vision, similar to how he felt when he was facing off against a demon. The type of focus that it took years and years of training to hone; a warrior’s focus. He knew instantly that he wasn’t going to hit the target square-on, though the feeling that came over him was familiar, but there was something different behind it, something even more powerful than he had ever experienced. And it was strangely… freeing.

“Now shoot,” she murmured in his ear.

He released the bow string, hearing the _whoosh_ of the arrow, and then the THUNK of the arrow as it struck the dummy. He was right: he hadn’t hit the target where he wanted, but he’d hit it. The arrow stuck out from the lower torso.

Kate clapped him on the back and moved so she was beside him, her arm still draped over his shoulders. “That was pretty good for your first time! It’s a disabling shot. Now you’ll be even more deadly on the field.”

He gave her a grateful smile and handed the bow back to her. “So are your toes curled constantly?”

She shrugged and took the bow back, grabbing an arrow from her quiver and drawing quickly. The arrow hit the dummy square in the skull, and Cullen raised an impressed eyebrow. “Only when I’m fighting. Oh, and maybe when…” she trailed off, a sly smirk on her face.

“When… what?”

She met his eyes and her smirk deepened, but he tilted his head and gave her a questioning look. She sent another arrow into the dummy’s head and coughed, “Never mind.”

“So… you feel that way with every arrow you shoot?” he asked.

“Most of the time, but in short, quick bursts. Now it’s as if each arrow I shoot grounds me – as if it brings me closer to the wind and the earth, and…” she blushed and gave him a sheepish look. “Listen to me… I sound like a shaman.”

“I find it fascinating,” Cullen replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Well, any time you’d like to learn the ways of the Avvar, you know where to find me,” she chuckled, walking to the dummy and yanking her arrows from its faceless head. She shoved the arrows back into her quiver and made her way back towards where Cullen was beginning to sharpen his sword on his whetstone.

As she passed him, she gave him another smirk and made her way back towards Haven. He gave her a warm nod and turned back to his sword.

“Oh, and Commander?”

“Hmm?” he looked over his shoulder to see her facing him as she walked backwards, her head tiled to one side.

“Remember our secret. If you tell anyone...”

He smiled. "Yes, of course. Erm... Hakkon Wintersbreath will never need appeasing."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "You may have learned the secret of our bows, but you have much to learn about our ways. Until later... Cullen."


	6. A History Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I don't spend time listening to other people's words  
>  Sometimes they're right most times the reverse  
> They say the best is for the best when the best’s for the worse_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \- From “Best For the Best” by Josh Ritter

**The Hinterlands**  

Cassandra watched Kate carefully as the requisitions officer handed her a missive: Kate’s gaze shifted from indifferent to amused in a split second and she looked up at the officer with a sparkle in her eye,

“A dwarven puzzle box?” Kate asked, choking back a laugh.

The officer looked momentarily panicked. “Well, yes, your Worship… this could help us.”

Kate threw her head back and laughed in three short bursts. “A dwarven puzzle box!”

“What’s so funny about that?” Varric asked in mock annoyance, “Got a problem with dwarves?”

“Of course not!” Kate blurted, taking a deep breath, “It’s just… well, I didn’t expect a simple requisitions order to remind me so much of home. We always had dwarven puzzle boxes for the children back home.”

“I didn’t realize that they were common in Ostwick, milady,” the requisitions officer spoke up.

“They’re not. I’m not speaking of Ostwick,” Kate snapped. The officer bowed to her awkwardly and then turned on her heel and retreated.

“That poor girl. Did you mean to scare her off like that?” Varric asked carefully.

“No, but everyone should stop pretending that they don’t know of my origin. When I say ‘home’ is it not obvious that I’m not speaking of Ostwick?”

Solas was the first to answer. “It isn’t, Catherine,” he replied in a soothing tone. “Perhaps next time you can explain it to the girl?”

Kate took a deep breath and stuffed the missive in her breast pocket and nodded. “You’re right, Solas. I apologize. Shall we go?”

Solas nodded at her and jutted his sharp chin towards the path ahead. “Lead on, Catherine.”

They walked in silence for a tick, until Varric piped up, “So, dwarven puzzle boxes, hey? That’s what little Avvar girls and boys do when they have time to kill?”

She smiled. “Most Avvar children.”

“And you?”

“Sometimes, yes. My mother was more concerned with teaching me to read and write.”

Varric’s surprise was evident in his voice. “Your mother _encouraged_ you to learn to read and write? I thought that the Avvar shunned that sort of thing?”

“My mother was a bit of a pariah,” Kate chuckled, “Her father was the Hold trader, so he could read and write in the common parlance, and he taught her everything he knew. It helped her as a hunting guide, and Arvid always said that her intelligence left the nobles she took hunting impressed. Including my father, I suppose.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t understand how the Avvar think that knowing how to read and write is strange.”

Kate shrugged. “There’s just not much need for it. We have our own way of doing things - we always have. Just as the Chantry has always followed its traditions, we follow ours.”

“‘ _We_ ’? You still identify with them?”

“I am _Avvar_ ,” Kate replied firmly.

“And when people refer to you as a Marcher instead of a Fereldan - is that considered insulting to you?”

Kate gave Cassandra a fierce look. “I’m _not_ Fereldan. I’m _Avvar_. We are free and answer to only ourselves. I do not bow to kings or queens or viscounts or any other noble bastard. My path is determined only by myself and the will of the gods.”

Casandra relented, but her cocked eyebrow coloured her impressed. 

As Kate dropped into stealth to scout the unexplored area ahead, Cassandra held back and watched her. The woman moved with the utmost grace; it was as if she melted into the environment and became a part of it, moving with the breeze. 

“She’s certainly got gumption,” Solas murmured approvingly from beside Cassandra.

She gave him an odd look. “You sound impressed.”

He shrugged. “Aren’t you? I know that you perhaps did not see eye to eye at first, but even you must admit that she is an impressive woman.”

“She is far more intelligent and graceful than I know of her people.”

Solas chuckled, “Are you not of the same people?”

“This is different. The Avvar are...”

“Different?” 

Cassandra gave him a frustrated, confused look, and then blew a long sigh through pursed lips. 

Solas chuckled, “I must admit that I empathize with her. Though I have pointed ears, the elves are not my people. Catherine must feel the same about the rest of humanity.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t do anything to endear herself, but…” Cassandra’s tone softened, “I suppose I can identify with her myself, especially how she feels about her family in Ostwick. A life she didn’t want, a bird in a gilded cage…”

She straightened up and blinked hard, her jaw hard and her eyes locked forward as Varric threw his jaw open and turned to Cassandra, his smirk blinding.

“A woman who resents the family forced upon her?” Varric asked, his voice high and taunting, “A woman who does nothing to endear herself to others?”

“Varric…” Solas began, but Cassandra held up a silencing hand.

“It’s fine, Solas. Regardless of Varric’s _attempt_ to mock me, I understand how foolish it must sound for me to disparage her when we are, indeed, so alike.”

*******

Cassandra stole glimpses of Kate’s face from across the fire as they sat in camp outside Redcliffe Farms: Kate sat, her arms resting limply on her knees, staring into the fire with such intensity that Cassandra had a fleeting thought that her look may have set the wood aflame in the first place. The flickering light danced on Kate’s face, illuminating scars that Cassandra hadn’t noticed before, including what looked like three claw marks under Kate’s right ear that disappeared past her collar. Those particular scars looked old, but had obviously been very deep and traumatic: it was in this light that Cassandra saw that the upper part of Kate’s right ear had been sliced in two, and she realized then that she had never seen it before as Kate’s hair was always drawn or pinned to the right side of her head. But now, with her hair pulled back, it was as if Kate was allowing all of her to be seen through the flames.

Kate cleared her throat and Cassandra jumped, meeting eyes and then looking away and blushing - she’d been caught.

Kate chuckled and threw a twig aimlessly into the fire, “You’re wondering what happened to give me the scar?”

Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. “It caught my eye in the firelight.”

“And you want to know how I got it?”

Cassandra nodded begrudgingly.

Kate sighed and moved her braid over to the left, arching her neck so the scar became more visible. “Basin wyvern. Long story. It still hurts when the weather’s foul.”

Ah. It explained why Cassandra had seen Kate favouring her shoulder so much during yesterday’s rain. 

“Are there many wyvern where you came from?”

The half-smile Kate gave her across the fire caused her blush to deepen.

“Small talk, Cassandra?”

From inside one of the tents, Varric half-shouted, _“Ah, just tell us about the wyvern fight, Gorgeous!”_

Kate rolled her eyes and picked up another stick, snapping off bits of it more vigorously and chucking them into the fire with force. She stared into the fire and seemed to bare her teeth at it.

“A wyvern is a fearsome opponent, and the Basin is riddled with them. After the last frost, the nobles from all throughout Thedas scramble to hunt our lands. Typically it would be heresy, but the gold means that the Hold has the very best of everything as the winters bore down upon us. My grandfather and  mother were both hunting guides, and steadfast champions of the wyvern hunts, so it was expected that I would take after both of them. And so I accompanied mother on a hunt – the last of the season,” Kate began bitterly, “I was fifteen and eager to prove myself, especially to this particular group of Orlesian nobles. Them and their pompous brats.”

She took a deep breath and flicked more twigs into the fire. “They were particularly rowdy since the hunt was to be one of the son’s last before he went off to templar training, but the hunts were so tiring that they typically wanted to make camp as soon as we had skinned the final wyvern of the day. Save for the last night.”

Cassandra shivered: the temperature seemed to have dropped by several degrees, and suddenly the area around their small fire seemed impossibly black. With every twig Kate fed the fire, it flared up, illuminating her face and her scars. Her eyes took on an exaggerated shadow, and Cassandra felt her breath catch in her throat as she looked through the fire at the Herald.

“I had just settled in to keep watch when the future templar,” Kate spat the word, “came rushing up to me with two of his younger brothers. They were wild eyed and out of breath and told me that they had seen something that they couldn’t explain towards the swamps; they were afraid of what it was. I wanted to wake up my mother so she could keep watch, but they were so insistent and frightened that they dragged me from my post before I could wake her. We climbed down to Swamp Kuldsdotten to this clearing. The entire way they were filling my head with nonsense about a spirit that they had seen; they were calling it a desire demon, and I was terrified that they had insulted one of our gods so deeply that it would come for us all. They led me to a clearing... and then they turned on me. The templar-to-be hit me from behind and I dropped my weapon, and then he cut my clothes. The other two tore at them until they were in tatters all around me, and then they grabbed buckets of bogfisher blood that they’d planted there and dowsed me with it. Then they grabbed my bow and threw it up so that it was dangling from a branch sticking out of a boulder that lined a large waterfall that ran beside the clearing. And then they lured in an alpha wyvern with bogfisher body parts and left me there to die.”

Cassandra inhaled sharply, and she heard the flap door to Varric and Solas’ tent open and saw Solas and Varric exit and sit silently in front of their tent; Varric’s knees were drawn up to his chest and she could see the wetness in his eyes in the firelight and the sombre, if somewhat surprised, look on Solas’.

“Obviously, it didn’t worked out the way they planned,” Kate grinned ironically, “But they tried. They stuck around for an hour, taunting the wyvern and chucking more body parts at it and at me. At first it was more interested in the boys than me, and it gave me time to try to plan out how I was going to scale the boulders and get my bow, but the blood was impossibly slick, and I couldn’t get a foothold, even when I tried sticking my arrows into divots in the wall to climb to it. Eventually the brats got tired of watching the wyvern do nothing and left. Of course, that’s when the wyvern turned it’s attention to me.”

Varric crept closer.

“I tried scaling the wall again, but my hand slipped and I cut my palm on the rock and fell backwards into the clearing. As soon as my skin opened, the thing turned to me and rushed me. I was already on my back and stunned, and the thing was on me in half a second. The first thing a Basin wyvern does is attack your neck; its natural food source are bogfishers, and they’re armoured everywhere, except a very thin ring around their necks, so a wyvern’s strike is almost always precise,” Kate trailed off for a moment and met Cassandra’s eyes across the fire, “Almost.”

Cassandra looked over at Varric and was surprised that he wasn’t writing down each and every word Kate spoke, but he was rapt with attention. She swore that she saw tears begin to well in Solas’ eyes.

“In that split second that the wyvern was jumping on me, I was aware enough to turn my head to look for my quiver with a few arrows still in it and reach for it. That slight movement exposed the thicker part of my neck under my ear, and the wyvern tore into it. It tore my ear apart and left me with what I call the ‘triple threat’. The only thing I remember about the entire thing wasn’t even the pain. It was how angry I felt when I felt my skin tear open. And it was that anger that gave me the wherewithal to grab an arrow and jam it through the beast’s eye socket and into it’s brain. And it died there, on top of me.”

The intense silence was only broken when Solas inhaled sharply.

Kate tilted her head and drew her hair away from her neck and ear so that her scars and torn skin were on display. The fire flickered over them and they seemed to come alive, as if her skin was recalling the story as she was telling it.

“It took them two days to find me. When the boys were retreating, the templar-to-be slipped and cracked his skull open on the rocks when they were climbing back up to the camp. He died instantly. The two younger brothers had to lie and say that we were attacked and that I had died as well, so no one was looking for me. They covered their tracks and told my mother I had been eaten or some shit.”

“But… how did you survive?” Varric stammered, wiping a tear from his cheek.

Kate dipped her chin and stared at the ground, and then up at Varric through her eyelashes. “Anger. I could see the sky through the canopy above me, and I begged the Lady of the Skies to end it for me right there. I was slowly being suffocated underneath the body of this massive wyvern, I was bleeding out, and nobody had come for me. Suddenly, a bird flying above me was shot from the sky and spiraled down towards me. It landed on top of the wyvern’s body, and I felt this sense of anger surge through me. With all my might, I screamed at the top of my lungs. The hunter who had shot the arrow – Adam,” her voice hitched on the name, “had come to investigate the sound. He’d shot the bird – a common seabird – because it had been screaming at him for a few minutes as he was tracking our Hold bear Storvacker. The sound was driving him mad, so he shot the bird out of the sky. When I screamed, he mistook it for the bird’s call and took it as a taunt, so he ran towards the sound to finish off the bird once and for all. And he found me. Anger saved me that day: Adam’s anger and my own.”

Cassandra bit her lip and averted her eyes: now she understood Kate’s demeanour.

“The Lady of the Skies answered me that day: I begged her for death, and she sacrificed one of her messengers to save my life. Adam should never have killed that bird, but his anger commanded it. I should never have had the strength to conjure up that scream, but my anger commanded it. Anger and the Lady have both served me well. So I put my faith in the Lady and her messengers, and I put my faith in… well, _anger_.”

Suddenly, the air in the camp lifted and the surrounding area came back into focus. The shadows left Kate’s face, and her hair hid her scars yet again. Varric let a strained breath through his teeth, and Solas silently retreated into his tent. And Cassandra was rendered speechless, her fingers running instinctively over her own scar, the memory of how she got it also burned into her brain.

Kate stood and moved towards the tent, rolling her head around her shoulders and taking a deep breath. “You asked me why I still identify with the Avvar, and why I get upset when people talk to me as if I’m a noble Marcher instead of Avvar. The nobility sentenced me to death, and the Avvar saved me from it. The nobility seem always so willing to take my life from me, but they cannot kill me.”

She turned and gave Cassandra and Varric a pointed look. “Because I am Avvar.”


	7. Watch the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I walk on a winding road  
>  In the deep of the night, near the edge of the known  
> I pass by a moonlit lake  
> And a cold wind blows and my bones start to shake  
> And I feel I should know this place_
> 
> \- From “Lonesome Dreams” by Lord Huron

Kate prided herself on not being high maintenance. She was Avvar, after all: she left it up to her half-sister Miranda to be the one to complain about _everything_.

But Miranda wasn’t here. In this shitty bog of a place. The Fallow Mire. She hated the smell, the wetness permeating through her clothes and into her skin, and especially the dead bodies piled everywhere, but the thing she hated most of all was that she was acting like Miranda, turning her nose up at, well, _everything_.

Scout Harding smirked at her. “Not your type of place, milady?”

Kate glared at her. “Is this type of place suited to _anyone?_ ”

Harding chuckled, “Before the plague, I imagine it was. But since then it’s crawling with undead, mud, and…”

“My people,” Kate muttered under her breath.

Harding bit her lip nervously. “The Avvar here don’t seem to agree, Your Worship. They seem to take it as an insult that you claim to be the Herald of Andraste. They… ahem, have sent a missive questioning your loyalties.”

Kate’s breath hitched. “Show me this missive.”

Harding handed her a damp piece of paper. The words were scrawled across the parchment and horribly misspelled (she doubted that the Avvar leader had written it himself), but were still clear as day:

_An Avvar-born Herald of Andraste bites her thumb in the presence of the true gods. She shall prove the worth of her adopted Maker against the true god she has turned her back on. All hail the mighty Korth and the one who wields his power. All hail the Hand of Korth!_

Kate clenched her fist around the missive and threw it onto the ground, her anger bubbling up. She wanted to dive into a rant about how this asshole was as much an insult to their gods as it was calling her the Herald of Andraste. But she’d never claimed to be… as little as that seemed to matter.

“Has there been any other response other than our own?” she asked Harding.

The dwarf raised an eyebrow at her. “Your Worship?”

“Have you spotted any other Avvar in the area? Has anyone else come besides the Inquisition?”

“No, milady. Just us.”

Kate’s heart beat faster, but she knew it shouldn’t be surprising: she wasn’t considered a member of Stonebear Hold anymore. The minute she left with her father she was considered a lowlander. A frequently-visiting, Avvar-blooded – _half_ Avvar-blooded, she reminded herself – in denial about her parentage, _lowlander._ It broke her heart to be labeled something she felt the opposite of: in her heart she was Avvarr through and through, but to the Avvar, she was not. So of course, Stonebear Hold wouldn’t respond. And they hadn’t.

She took a deep breath and turned back to Harding. “Where are our people being held?”

“In the large castle at the far end of the Fallow Mire. It’s a ruin – an unfortunate casualty in the relative war that Bann Hargrave has been waging against these Avvar.”

“Has there been any word? Are they all alive? Has there been any other demands?”

Harding paused for a minute, but then furrowed her brow and murmured, “No further demands. And we don’t know if they’re alive or not.”

Cassandra stepped up beside Kate and rested a hand on her shoulder. “It could be a trap.”

Kate took a deep breath and nodded. “It could be, but we have to take that chance. Especially if our people are still alive.”

“And if it is a trap?”

“Then we take the opportunity to… erm…”

Cassandra spoke up, “We wipe them out.”

Kate nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

Cassandra jutted her chin towards Varric and Solas. “Let’s move out.”

…

It was awhile before they saw any Avvar; they had fought through more of the undead than Kate had ever thought possible. It made her sick to think that so many had died in such a depressing place – this soggy, horrid, putrid mire. It was no place to die. Anger swelled in her gut as she thought of the Inquisition’s people: if the Avvar had killed them, then she would… she would…

 _And what exactly would you do, Stormtamer?_ Thane Sun-Hair’s voice rang in her head. She shook it involuntarily, tendrils of her hair shaken loose from her bun and blowing in the wind that suddenly picked up. The scent of pine hit, and she immediately perked up, her nostrils flaring on instinct.

_Pay attention to the wind, Stormtamer. It carries the truth._

She held up her raised fist and heard their footsteps stop automatically. Kate knelt and gazed up at the sky, clenching a fist around the damp dirt and slowing her breathing so that it was keeping rhythm with the ebb and flow of the breeze. She closed her eyes and listened.

_To your left!_

She opened her eyes and drew her weapon, the movement just enough to help her dodge an arrow that went flying past her head and blowing past the tendrils of her hair. She locked onto the sniper and sent an arrow through her chest, watching as the attacker dropped to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw cloaked movement and yelled out to her companions:

“Cloaked attackers! Watch your backs!”

Cassandra whirled and moved into a protective stance in front of Varric and Solas, sword drawn and shield at the ready. Instinctively, Kate dropped to stealth and resumed her crouched position, scanning the area in front of her for the rogue she’d seen before. But the wind picked up again and she turned around to be greeted with another arrow. This time it clipped her shoulder and she cried out in pain, dropping from stealth and sending her own arrow into the head of another sniper.

Steel clashed with steel and she saw Cassandra stab into the night and the rogue was yanked out of stealth the parry the attack. She whipped around in full draw and hit the rogue right in the stomach. The woman crumpled as Kate stood, another arrow already pulled and held against her bow as she walked towards the woman. The woman’s eyes were bright against the war paint on her face, and the blood leaked from the side of her mouth as she sank to her knees, clutching the arrow in her stomach.

“St-stormtamer…” the woman croaked, causing Kate to stop in her tracks.

She knelt again in front of the woman, searching her face frantically. “What did you just call me?”

The woman gave her a bloody smile and coughed, splattering blood on the mud in front of her. Kate jumped back and fell into the mud. She propped herself up on her arm and stared at the Avvar.

“Wh-where do your loy-loyalties lie, Hold-traitor?” the woman growled before coughing violently again and then falling face-first into the mud with a sickening splat.

Kate popped up, moving towards the woman. She kicked the corpse over and stared at the dead Avvar on the ground, her heart racing. She bent and wiped the war paint and mud from the woman’s face and then took a few staggering steps backward: she _recognized_ her - the woman was one of the many who had been brought to Stonebear Hold and presented as a potential mate for one of their Champions two years before Kate left the Hold. Though it had been a few years, the woman’s face hadn’t changed. 

Cassandra gave her a concerned look and walked to her side, following her gaze down to the woman. “Everything all right, Catherine?”

Kate swallowed hard and stood with a deep breath. She turned to look at Cassandra and nodded, but her attempt to show everything was all right was feeble, and she bit her lip to keep herself from breaking down. Cassandra gave her a knowing look and motioned for her to take an aside.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Cassandra turned to her. “We expected dissonance...”

“Yes, but not from my own kin. Not from the Avvar.”

Cassandra sighed and gave her a look. “Can you really say that? Are these _truly_ your people?”

“They may not be of my Hold, but...” Kate sighed - Cassandra was right. She was in denial: these weren’t her people.

Cassandra put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder and signed deeply herself. “You know, when I was given the title of the ‘Hero of Orlais’, the Nevarran people were unhappy. I was from their land, so I was  _theirs_  - not Orlais’. They wanted me to renounce the title and put emphasis on the fact that I was from Nevarra, but I didn’t. I accepted the title. I went to the parades. I waved at the crowds. Many of Nevarra were furious with me. At first it aggravated me, then it simply angered me. How could these people claim me as their own and yet not champion my successes? But that’s just it – the people who truly care for you, who truly value you no matter your name, are your people. Those are the ones who you swear your allegiance to because they swear it back. It may not be the Avvar way, and it may not be the Chantry’s way, but it’s the reality of this world. I’ve no use for those at my back who would not defend it.”

Kate took a deep breath and gave Cassandra a grateful smile that slowly turned into a smirk. “And yet you let Varric walk behind you.”

“Ugh, that dwarf…” Cassandra looked over towards Varric, who gave her a wicked grin and wiggled his fingers at her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He is an ass regardless if he is behind or in front of me.”

......

As they made their way through the mire, they encountered only one more pair of Avvar archers, but she didn’t recognize either of them. Eventually, it was the mass of the undead and demons that they fought through that began to disturb her even deeper than her encounter with the Avvar did – there were just _so many_ of them. So many undead hobbling, running, and attacking. Bodies ravaged by plague now being used for evil purpose. It sickened her, though the notion of the undead was nothing new, and she vowed inwardly that her burial would only ever be a sky burial. Her body would never be used for such vile purposes… not if she could help it. Especially not in a mire. But that was just the thing: these people hadn’t chosen this path for their Earthly body. They hadn’t chosen to die in a mire. It was a sobering, saddening, and terrifying prospect.

“Catherine?” Solas’ voice cut her off her train of thought. She shot him a look and he jutted his chin towards the green light emanating from behind yet another ramshackle hut. “Another rift.”

She sighed and nodded at him. “Any sign of demons?”

“None. The rift may be closed, but not sealed. There is a figure there, though… perhaps another Avvar?”

Her heart leapt into her throat and she stopped in her tracks, sizing up Solas. “Are you certain?”

“Take a look for yourself.”

She crept forward, unhooking her bow and carefully drawing one of her arrows, taking cover behind a one of the interior walls of the shack and peeking round the doorless frame towards the rift. Indeed, standing in front of the rift as if thoughtfully examining it, was a lumbering figure with a large maul slung over his shoulder and a distinctly Avvar headdress upon his head that immediately told her that the man was a Sky Watcher: a shaman of the Lady of the Skies. She placed the arrow back in her quiver and hooked her bow and smiled at the shaman – she could only imagine how confused he was, especially as she could imagine how he laboured about how he could possibly heal the rift.

Cassandra gave her a questioning look. “Should we attack?”

Kate shook her head. “No. Let me speak to him. This is a shaman; I doubt he’ll be a threat to us.”

Cassandra gave her an unbelieving look.

“Be on guard,” Kate relented, “Just in case.”

Kate advanced towards the lumbering man staring at the rift carefully, but her body language was relaxed. Still, she held up a hand in a silent order to the others to stay put, and took a few more steps towards the man. 

“Mighty odd of the Lady to flaunt the tears in her skin, wouldn’t you say, Sky Watcher?” Kate asked, sliding up beside the man.

He didn’t turn to face her, but continued looking at the rift. “So it’s true, then. One of our own can mend the gaps in the sky?”

Kate was taken aback. “One of our own? I thought...”

“That I’d take up arms for a whelp’s trophy hunt? I know of you, Stormtamer. I know your Hold. The boy might think you a lowlander, but to me you’re kin. You’ll see no threat from me.”

“I… appreciate it,” she breathed, looking over her shoulder and nodding at her companions to move forward. They reluctantly came forward, and Kate stifled a laugh at how incredibly small Varric looked as he peered up at the giant Sky Watcher.

“I will help you fight what bursts forth from this tear, Stormtamer,” Sky Watcher murmured, “but you know as well as I that the Lady is not _flaunting_ these tears in her skin. Have you not seen the warnings written through the bird flocks in the air?”

Kate raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

Solas spoke up. “Interesting how widely Fereldan beliefs diverge.”

She opened her mouth to correct Solas, but Sky Watcher beat her to it, “Call me Fereldan again, elf, and see how far you get.”

There was a strained silence until he turned back to Kate, his mouth set in a thin line.

“That you need to ask is concerning. Do you not hold counsel with the gods over that great tear in the sky? Have you not sought counsel of our Lady’s messengers?”

She sighed and clenched her jaw. “If you know of me, Sky Watcher, then you know that I currently only have guest-welcome on my own Hold. That I have been branded a lowlander. I fear my connection to the gods has grown weak and I have no Augur to guide me.”

He stared down at her sympathetically. “And yet I sense that you hold the gods’ favour, even here in this forsaken place. Should you make it out of this bog alive, and our Lady wills it, then I will join you in your fight.”

“You would do that?”

He nodded, lowering his maul from his shoulder and nodding at the rift. “Show me the gods’ favour, Stormtamer, and I will ensure you do not lose it.”

“And if I don’t make it out of here alive?” Kate asked.

“Then I will offer your soul to Her and tend your sky burial myself. You will not be left to rot in this place.”

She gave him a grateful smile and nod, then reached out her hand towards the rift and opened it. Either way, her soul would rest easy.


	8. A Sign From the Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you got what you came for why should you stay?  
>  If you know where you’re going why delay?  
> If you won’t be returning don’t say goodbye  
> Turn your back on the ocean and follow the sun through the sky._
> 
>  
> 
> \- From “When Will I See You Again” by Lord Huron

**Haven**

Kate looked out at the Frostbacks and sighed, Varric’s voice ringing in her head:

_You might want to consider running at the first opportunity._

She’d wanted to tip her hat to him and then take off running in that exact moment, but she wasn’t even really sure as to where she would go. Somehow, someway, she would make it to the Basin. Somehow, she’d make it home. Especially now that Amund, the Sky Watcher from the Fallow Mire, had been on hand to offer her counsel for some time before he was sent to the Hinterlands to assist Inquisition forces that had disturbed an old Alamarri ritual site. She felt closer to the gods and, subsequently, to her home than she had in years, and it comforted her. It made the Basin seem closer, somehow.

She knew that Sky Watcher’s presence irked Cassandra especially, even though she’d tried to explain it to her several times: just as Cassandra found comfort in the name of Andraste or the Maker, Kate found comfort in her own gods. But, as much as Cassandra tried to understand, Kate could sense how uncomfortable she was about it, and their new friendship was still too fragile to continue, so Kate didn’t press it.

Cullen also had a difficult time understanding, but he was slightly more receptive to it than Cassandra had been, given – Kate assumed – their conversation when she’d taught him how to shoot a bow. He’d already been very briefly introduced to her pantheon, so she supposed he’d already been expecting something bizarre. Of course, he’d taken the opportunity to let her know that he didn’t approve of the summoning and appeasing of spirits in a subtle way, but he appreciated her need for a faith to lean on.

A day after they’d arrived back in Haven from the Mire, Cullen had sought her out as she practised her archery in the early morning to thank her for her timely rescue of the soldiers, and to discuss his concerns and questions over Sky Watcher. She didn’t have to tell him most of his concerns were unfounded: he had openly admitted to the fact that he already believed they were and had approached her to confirm it. It had surprised her. But, then again, much about her budding friendship with Cullen was increasingly surprising. She hadn’t particularly _liked_ him when they’d first met, even though she appreciated how handsome he was, but she’d assumed he was a Chantry-controlled, mage-hating, closed minded former templar. Somewhat unfairly, she was now finding out: he presented himself as a hard nut to crack, but there was a mystery to him when he let down his guard. He had a past, she knew. She’d heard the whispers about what had happened in Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall among the templars she had befriended in Ostwick.

Kate was quickly growing to respect him: to admit to a closed mind was a strength, not a weakness. Here was a man who had seen the horrible things that could happen when forced out of his comfort zone, she was sure, yet he continued to do so around her. It had been starkly evident that he was uncomfortable when he’d asked her about Sky Watcher, but had listened intently to her answers and his thoughtful questions had obviously been rehearsed so as not to appear insensitive. It was rapidly endearing him to her, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that yet.

Thankfully, to prove concerns unfounded, Sky Watcher had been mindful of the Chantry and the largely-Andrastian populace of Haven and had kept the gods from appearing so not to frighten the others. After all, to the majority of Haven, the gods were spirits that were akin to the demons pouring from the rifts, and to observe their Herald of Andraste interacting with her gods could cause their faith to falter. And a faltering faith was the last thing that was needed now, despite the gods that were believed in.

Right now, though, all that mattered was what to do next.

She’d secured the horse-master and initiated contact with Mother Giselle, then had rescued the Inquisition soldiers from the Mire before a brief stop in Haven. Then they had continued to Val Royeaux seeing as she’d delayed their trip there enough. Her sense of dread over their arrival in Val Royeaux was well-founded and confirmed almost immediately upon their arrival. Word of her origin had expectedly spread, and the Chantry Mother had hurled “barbarian” at her to her face several times. She had felt Cassandra tense beside her, but Kate had simply crossed her arms and responded in as poised a manner as she could manage given the circumstances. She would show the pricks of Val Royeaux that a _barbarian_ was better behaved than those they revered: she would be their beacon of light.

The rest of the trip was a blur: the arrival of the templars, the gasps of disbelief at their behaviour, the bruise under the Mother’s cheek forming rapidly as she fell to the ground, the templar’s retreat to Therinfal Redoubt, anger, confusion, Grand Enchanter Fiona, more confusion, and then… they were back in Haven. Immediately upon their arrival, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana had launched into an argument as to who to turn to, and Kate had lashed out, the confusion and anger and utter _pressure_ spilling over and out through her words:

“Or you could all stop arguing and make a fucking decision!”

It had been Cassandra who had agreed with her: they needed to stop arguing and do something, quickly. They’d strategized briefly in the War Room, but her exhaustion had overcome her and she’d retired to her bed, the decision haunting her dreams. She’d arisen early to pray to the gods for a sign, but none had come, so she’d set out early to hunt, clear her mind, and talk herself out of following Varric’s “advice”.

She sat in stealth upon a large boulder next to the lake, watching as the rams sauntered past, oblivious to her presence. The wind picked up and the scent of manure hit her nostrils, but, instead of recoiling, she breathed it in. The druffalo must be near, and she needed a hide for Harritt, so she knew that she was staying… at least for today.

Kate crept through the snow, still in stealth, and sat in full draw as she aimed at one of the larger, bull druffalo in front of her, and, as she let the arrow sail through the air, something in her peripherals moved in an odd way. It wasn’t the clunky movement of another druffalo, or the grace of a ram, but… something familiar.

She shook her head and then turned her attention back to the druffalo, who was almost upon her, it’s nostrils flaring in anger and bloodthirst. She had just enough time to draw and leap away from the beast, sending several arrows into its head before it could trample her. The beast moaned once, huffing again through its nostrils at her, and then fell over into the snow, dead.

She breathed a sigh of relief and began to approach the druffalo corpse, but there was more movement out of the corner of her left eye, closer this time. As she whirled to confront whatever was following her, the wind died completely and the peaks around her suddenly became silent, instantly sending her on edge. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes: this was the sign she had asked for.

The sound of ethereal, stilted laughter began to fill the area, and her eyes flew open, wide with trepidation as the sound grew and became suffocating. It was as if it saturated every surface around her, soaking into the snow beneath her feet, and being amplified by the trees. She stared up at the sky and noticed that the snowbirds were circling her, their typically song-like voices replaced by the eerie laughter. The shadow of their formation was projected upon the oddly untouched snow not five feet in front of her, and she squinted at it as the birds suddenly changed formation.

Kate took a slow step forward, but paused again as the laughter grew louder, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest. This was no sign from the Lady of the Skies. This was…

“Imhar?” she called out, her eyes still firmly upon the shadow of the circling snowbirds.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped and the birds changed formation, their shadows dancing upon the snow as they began to form the shape of some kind of symbol. A cross? A spirit? A… her breath hitched as she inhaled sharply at the now-familiar shape.

_A sword._

Kate exhaled, falling to her knees limply and watching as the birds dispersed above her and the area around her slowly returned to normal: the suffocating feeling lifted, the trees seemed relieved of their burden, and the wind resumed howling through the peaks as she stared at the now-blank patch of snow in front of her, her mind racing. What business did the trickster god Imhar have sending her a sign like this over the Lady of the Skies? Perhaps it was yet to be seen.

One thing was certain, however: the decision would no longer haunt her.

She finally found her feet, and raced towards Haven at break-neck speed, leaving behind the druffalo corpse and scattering the rams around her. It was as if she couldn’t reach the Chantry fast enough.

Ignoring the stunned looks of those she passed on her way, she finally reached the Chantry and burst into the War Room, out of breath, stunning her already-gathered advisors.

“Therinfal,” she stuttered, “We must go to Therinfal.”


	9. Imhar, the Clever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you  
>  Run boy run! They’re dying to stop you  
> Run boy run! This race is a prophecy_
> 
> \- From “Run Boy Run” by Woodkid

The Inquisition advisors were at a loss for words as Catherine stood heaving in the doorway, her eyes wide and her face streaked with sweat, dirt, and… was that _blood_?

Cullen moved towards her immediately. “Catherine, is that your blood?”

She shot him an incredulous, annoyed look and sent an exasperated sigh through her teeth. “No, it’s not. It’s druffalo. But-“ she stopped abruptly and gave the rest of her advisors the same look, “Erm, did you all hear me?”

Leliana and Josephine exchanged looks across the war table, but Leliana regained her composure and calmly clasped her hands behind her back. “And what helped you reach such a decision?”

Kate straightened up and walked into the room, leaning against the war table still out of breath. She looked over her shoulder and gave Cullen a somewhat sheepish look, and then stood up and faced Leliana. Cullen placed his hands upon the hilt of his sword and stepped around the table to come to rest in his usual spot: a crutch upon a crutch. He noticed Josephine was gripping her quill tightly, Leliana’s grip tightened around her own wrist behind her back, and Cassandra stiffened and set her lips into a thin line – their own crutches starkly evident in the dimly lit room as the initial shock wore off.

“I’ve been directed to seek out the templars,” Kate murmured, “I know it sounds strange, but… I received the sign that I had been asking for.”

Josephine and Cassandra met tense eyes over the war table and Cullen felt himself stiffen, but Leliana softened immediately. There was a prolonged, suffocating silence that took up a full minute until Kate finally inhaled sharply and sighed, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“It’s not that we don’t _believe_ you, Your Worship,” Josephine replied carefully, “It’s just that we wonder if you’ve thought this through. You haven’t even gone to Redcliffe to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona and…”

Cassandra interrupted, “We don’t know how volatile the mages are: the invitation could be nothing more than a trap.”

Josephine narrowed her eyes and sighed directly at Casssandra. “This is the same argument as before, and why we could not get anywhere – we have been invited by Grand Enchanter Fiona herself to simply speak, whereas the templars are openly hostile towards us. Why would we approach them when we have nothing to stand upon with the templars?”

“We’ve been attacked from both sides,” Cullen muttered under his breath.

Josephine turned her glare to him. “We have an invitation to Redcliffe,” she repeated, her voice becoming sickly sweet as she attempted to mask her frustration.

Kate and Leliana remained oddly silent, trading looks with each other as the air in the room began to become heavier and heavier. Cullen began to squirm under the pressure, but Kate and Leliana seemed to remain cool, as if they had already come to an unspoken agreement. He began to block out Josephine and Cassandra’s repeated protests to one another and instead focused in on Kate’s face. She braced herself against the war table and pursed her lips, her demeanour finally calm and her breathing peaceful: a stark contrast to how she was when she burst in. Similarly, Leliana stood calmly with her hands at her sides, watching Josephine and Cassandra’s exchange with a small smirk painted on her lips.

Cassandra threw up her hands and glowered at Josephine. “An invitation does not mean an invitation to a ball! I must repeat my initial feeling that…”

“What would it take to get an invitation to Therinfal?” Leliana mused quietly.

Josephine turned to her, her knuckles white as she grasped her slate tightly. “Do you have an idea, Leliana?”

“I believe that the credit goes to our Herald here,” Leliana said, “But, yes, I do have an idea.”

Cullen watched Cassandra roll her eyes and cross her arms over her chest, but the smirk did not leave Leliana’s face.

“We have resources to approach the templars. The Lord Seeker’s actions in Val Royeaux were, to me, a cry for attention.”

“A cry for -“ Cullen gaped at her, “You think he’d _abandon the Chantry_ for attention?”

“You said it yourself, Cassandra: the Lord Seeker was not the man you remembered,” Leliana replied smoothly, “Could it not be that his leaving the Chantry is a play to win it’s favour back? What does leaving the Chantry truly achieve the Lord Seeker except the spotlight upon him?”

“So, what? You’re saying that we should give the Lord Seeker the attention he desires?” Cassandra asked incredulously.

Leliana smiled wickedly. “Absolutely. We turn the focus to him: but not the Chantry’s. We cast the Inquisition’s eye upon him. And we call on the most unforgiving eye of all: Orlais.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow. “Orlais?”

“If we are accompanied to Therinfal by the noble houses of Orlais, the Lord Seeker will have no choice but to host us. They will join us in our petition to have them assist us in our efforts, and the Lord Seeker may find it difficult to refuse us. He so desires attention? Let him strain beneath it.”

There was a stifled silence as they all considered Leliana’s suggestion, and Cullen even had to admit that it made sense. It wouldn’t just be the Lord Seeker that would feel the pressure of such attention, but the templars themselves. And they didn’t need the Lord Seeker: they just needed his templars. After the Lord Seeker’s behaviour in Val Royeaux, Cullen was certain that most of his former brethren were not the attention-seekers that the Lord Seeker seemed to be: they were good Andrastians, sworn into service. They would see that they were needed to close the Breach at the Inquisition’s side.

Josephine, it seemed, was not convinced. “Should we not at least attempt contact with the mages?”

Cassandra sighed again, “We must act quickly. We should gather our Orlesian allies now and send word to Therinfal of our intentions to secure an invitation. It will take time to gather the nobility to our side. It may give us time to weigh our other option and build more trust in the Inquisition.”

“And in the meantime, perhaps, we can meet Fiona in Redcliffe,” Leliana agreed.

Cullen felt his eyes almost bug out of his head. “Are you _joking_ , Leliana? The minute the mages hear that we’ve even _contacted_ the templars, they will never agree to meet with us. If we approach the templars, then we _only_ approach the templars.”

“You’re so certain that the mages will take any form of cooperation off the table if we bring the templars on board?”

Cullen sighed, “The majority of them will, yes. I’ve seen several different relationships between templars and mages, and some of the mages may seek out the templars if they are within the ranks of the Inquisition. But, I promise you this: most of the mages will view it as the Inquisition valuing the templars over them. These are the same mages that rebelled against the Circle and it’s templars.”

“But if they’re desperate, and if we keep the templars in line…” Cassandra murmured.

“Seeker, you know as well as I do how hostile the situation between mages and templars has always been. Since the rebellion it has increased tenfold; we all know this,” Cullen insisted, “We risk the mages rebelling again. Against us this time.”

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t go to Therinfal after all,” Josephine piped up. Cullen was just able to catch the look Cassandra shot her and was surprised that Josephine didn’t spontaneously burst into flame.

He expected Kate to launch at Josephine, but the Herald of Andraste was completely silent.

“And how do you explain the Herald’s vision?” Leliana asked, frowning. There was a collective inhalation and then the blood hit the water.

“I cannot, but visions are…” Cassandra.

“What? Not credible? Have you forgotten that my journey began because of my own sign from the Maker?” Leliana.

“That was from the _Maker_ , Leliana, and-“ Josephine.

“And why should that matter? If such a sign was received from the heavens, then perhaps it is still the Maker’s will.” Leliana.

“A convenient explanation, don’t you think?” Cullen couldn’t help but chime in.

“No. I believe that it is exactly as she has told us: it is a sign from the gods.” Leliana.

“From an _Avvar_ god?” Cassandra.

“And why not? Is it so preposterous that-“ Leliana began, her cheeks beginning to blush with pink.

“ _Enough_!” Kate shouted, her voice filling the room like a tolled bell, shocking her advisors from their argument. “You will not talk about me as if I am not present.”

Four sets of wide eyes peered at Kate as she straightened up and mimicked Leliana’s stance, straightening up and squaring her shoulders. “I did not have a _vision_ , all right? It was a sign and, at this point, I don’t care what god it came from: we are meant to go to Therinfal.”

“But you believe that one of your gods was present?” Cassandra pushed.

“I’ve told you what happened,” Kate replied brusquely, “Wouldn’t you stop and take notice if the wind suddenly died around you and the mountains became silent? Snowbirds circling around your head, laughing at you. _Laughing._ And their shadows upon the snow almost replicated the templar insignia? Tell me: how would you have interpreted that?”

“You mentioned a name. You called out the name of one of your gods,” Leliana mentioned softly.

Kate sighed and closed her eyes, nodding slowly. “Yes. Typically the bird are messengers of the Lady of the Skies: she’s the second most powerful and important god, next to the god Korth. I guess she would be comparable to Mythal in the Dalish belief. Her birds can be harbingers of defeat or victory, but her ‘word’ is said to be always written in the skies. But the laughter… I had a hunch that it could be one of our lesser gods, Imhar the Clever.”

“Imhar the Clever?” Cullen stuttered, “He is the god of – what – cleverness?”

Kate shot him a look. “In a sense. He is our trickster god and yes, Cullen, one of the stories attributed to Imhar tells of him defeating an entire demon army by laughing at them.”

“You cannot be serious,” Cassandra huffed.

“I am,” Kate said simply, “the laughter is what makes it curious. Why would a lesser god take the helm on something like this? Why would the Lady not ensure that the tears in the sky were healed herself? If Imhar is involved in this, then it must be for a reason.”

“He is a _trickster_ god, however; perhaps he is tricking you?” Cullen murmured.

“I don’t think so,” Kate responded, “his tricks are typically intended to aid the Avvar and trick their enemies.”

“Then perhaps…” Leliana murmured, “he is warning you of a trick. 

“And do you believe there to be a difference between a trick and a trap?” Josephine seemed to wonder aloud.

Cullen watched as Kate pondered the question carefully, tilting her head to the side and fixing her eyes on one of Cullen’s stray pieces on the war table. She picked it up and began to work it over in her hands, staring down at it and biting her lip as she did. Finally, she picked her head up and looked Josephine straight in the eye.

“Both are only true to form if they catch you off-guard. If you’re warned first, however, can you truly call a trap a trap? A trick loses it’s value the minute it loses the element of surprise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight canon divergence from this point forward. You'll see what I mean by "slight" in the next few chapters. Enjoy and thanks for reading!


	10. In The Company of Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Wide-eyed with a heart made full of fright  
>  Your eyes follow like tracers in the night  
> And the tightrope that you wander every time  
> You have been weighed, you have been found wanting_  
> \- From “The Wolf” by Mumford & Sons

Word from Orlais came quicker than they had expected, much to both Josephine and Leliana’s surprise. They had explained it away as the nobility’s relative fascination with Kate, but Kate knew that it was due to Josephine’s incredible letter-writing ability and diplomatic proficiency, even though she gave Kate a grateful smile each time that Kate mentioned it.

The only problem was that the overwhelming response from Orlais meant that the journey to Therinfal would likely happen quicker than they had expected and there wouldn’t be any extra time to journey outside of Haven, much to Kate’s disappointment. She had hoped to go to the Storm Coast briefly to meet the Chargers, but several of the Orlesian houses were coming to Haven ahead of Therinfal as they had requested to “dine with the Herald” to solidify their alliance.

Kate had sniffed the meat market out from their missives the minute Josephine had read them, and Leliana had automatically warned her that it would be just that: a chance for the Orlesians to weigh and measure her, to brag about their encounter upon meeting all of the other nobility, and, as Leliana put it, “to ogle you as though you were a creature in a zoo”. Thankfully, Kate had experience with all three before.

At the very least, it was a chance to take a little calm before the oncoming storm. She was certain that they would not have many chances for rest or breaks moving forward, so, even though she was dreading the arrival of the Orlesians, she was grateful for the time spent among the mountains.

Kate stood just outside the door of the Chantry, adorned in the traditional Avvarian hunter’s coat that she and Harritt had just finishing work on: the scarf was soft against her chin, the druffalo hide that she’d tanned and tailored herself fit perfectly over her body, and the ceremonial ram’s bones and teeth that she’d draped across her shoulders as was custom. It was soft, warm, sturdy, and smelled of home: she’d been careful to muddle the elfroot and other herbs the way she’d been taught by the armoursmith, and though it wasn’t perfect, it was close. She shrugged the hood up over her ears and closed her eyes, the scent of campfire, pine, and her tanned hide permeating her nostrils. The feel of the sun on her face was entirely comforting, and she was overcome with the thought that perhaps Haven was beginning to feel like home.

  
She lowered her hood and walked towards the apothecary: she had some embrium and royal elfroot that Adan had been asking for. She hadn’t gathered much, but he’d told her that even a little could make a difference. 

Kate nodded at Solas as she passed by him, leaning on the wall of his cabin, and pulling his nose out of his book. As she poked her head into the apothecary cabin, Solas murmured from behind her, “Adan is indisposed. Do you need healing?”

She dropped the herbs on one of the tables and turned to face Solas, shaking her head. “No, just dropping some herbs. What are you reading?”

He showed her the book’s cover: _The Fade and What Came Before It_. She smirked at him. “Ah, just some light reading, then? Tell me: how much of that book is just plain wrong?”

Solas raised an eyebrow at her. “Most of it. How did you know?”

“Just a hunch. Why do you keep reading it if it’s incorrect?”

“I wanted to see what human lore said of the Veil; it seems as though no one is quite sure what the answer is.”

“And you do?”

Solas’ eyes flicked up quickly, but dropped back to the book. He shrugged. “I like to think that my extensive exploration of the Fade at the very least gives me more knowledge than those who have not taken the time to dive as deeply as myself.”

It was a non-answer, but Kate let it slide. “Have you read about any Avvar lore when it comes to the Fade?”

He narrowed his eyes. “It is my understanding that the Alam… the Avvar do not believe in the Fade the way that the elves or Chantry do.”

“You could say that,” she mused, giving him her own non-answer. “Our beliefs are a bit more…”

“Ancient?”

She stared at him. “Interesting. They haven’t been muddled by old ghost stories.”

Solas chuckled, “You are speaking of the Dalish, then? I can surmise by your tone that you expect I will disagree, but I do not: the Dalish remember fragments of fragments. The Chantry convenient leaves out truth. No belief system is perfect, but it helps to see the whole puzzle so that you may also see the gaps within it.”

“That’s fair,” Kate relented, “I must say that I admire you for continuing to read it. I’d be scratching notes in the margin to ensure the next reader was not falsely led astray.”

Solas smiled broadly at her. “That does not surprise me. You seem to value honesty in everything you do: it’s commendable. I believe it was very brave of you to admit so freely to your origin, though it seems the people here look upon the Avvar as they do the elves.”

“Has anyone been unkind?” she asked, frowning.

He tilted his head at her. “Nothing that I cannot handle. Besides, I have seen the battles between the elves and humans in the Fade: hatred still runs deep enough that it will not be transformed easily.”

“Well, please let me know if it becomes too much,” she assured him. “Have you seen many battles in the Fade?”

“I have. I dreamt at Ostagar."

“You did? Tell me what happened!”

“I saw the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair light the signal fire and King Cailan overtaken by dark spawn.”

“To be left by Loghain,” Kate said bitterly.

“Or did Loghain, an experienced commander, pull his men from a certain death trap?”

She crossed her arms and rested on her right hip. “You tell me: you saw what happened in the Fade.”

“But that’s just it: the Fade is made of memories. So both versions are correct.”

“How can that be? How can you tell what to believe with something like that? Do you consult the spirits around you?”

“They typically tell the same stories, though spirits drawn to a place in the Fade may not have necessarily originated there. Places like Ostagar, where the Veil is thin, can be dangerous to spirits that do not wish to come through to our world. Spirits of wisdom and purpose are too easily twisted into pride and desire.”

“Pride and desire are demon names.”

“Precisely: most spirits I have befriended are quite content living in the Fade. It is only when they are corrupted or wrongfully summoned that they become demons.”

“So you’re saying that spirits become demons only because we... demonize them?”

“Do you not agree?”

Kate bit her lip: she wasn’t sure. The Avvar side of her agreed with Solas... mostly, and the lowlander side of her wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. “I’m not sure what to think, to be honest. I believe spirits are primarily here to help, but how can you know that it is not in fact a demon?”

Solas cast a far-away look to the mountains. Cryptically, he replied, “To small-minded fools, a wolf is a terrible beast and not the intelligent, practical creatures I know them to be. But a wolf can so often be confused with a jackal when he is anything but.”

.......

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand - block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead!”

Kate raised an eyebrow as she walked towards Cullen, and smirked as she caught his eye. “I didn’t realize that training could be so dramatic.”

He shrugged at her and she noticed his cheeks were tinged pink. “It’s the truth. Our recruits should be prepared for a real fight, not a practise one.”

She nodded at him and looked around the training yard. “It looks like we’ve got more recruits.”

Cullen smiled broadly at her. “Yes. Locals from Haven and quite a few pilgrims. Though… none have made _quite_ the impression you have.”

“What can I say? Even when I fall out of the Fade I catch attention.”

He laughed, “That you did. Well, that, and…”

“The ‘Avvar thing’?”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s quite all right. I’m used to the stares and names.”

He puffed up and frowned. “Names? Have you been called many?”

“You mean that you haven’t heard them?”

His frown persisted as he shook his head.

She sighed, “Names like ‘half-breed’ or the old favourite: ‘barbarian’. It gets to the point where I hardly hear them anymore. I’ve been dealing with that kind of thing since I arrived in Ostwick ten years ago. I can’t imagine that anyone is excited about the ‘Herald of Andraste’ being Avvar.”

“You being Avvar-born shouldn’t matter,” Cullen disagreed, “There are larger things happening now than religion or politics.”

She smiled at him weakly. “There are those who would argue that what’s happening now has _everything_ to do with religion and politics.”

He rolled his eyes, and motioned for her to follow him towards the lake at the back of the training yard. “The Inquisition should be a force beyond those things. It’s why I joined: Cassandra recruited me in Kirkwall. She knew that I had seen the devastation the mage uprising had caused, and offered me the position.

They came to a stop just in front of the lake and Cullen turned to her, resting his hands on his sword. The blush still hadn’t left his cheeks, but he seemed more relaxed. He continued, “Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“So you believe that the Inquisition will help?”

“I do. It’s starkly evident now that the Chantry has lost control of both the templars and mages, and they’re leaderless and scared. They argue over a new Divine whilst the Breach remains. The Inquisition can fill in an be a guiding light. The Chantry’s hands are tied and ours are not: we could make a difference! Think of the – erm…” he bit his lip and the blush deepened, “Forgive me, Catherine. I doubt you came here for a lecture."

She hadn’t, and his speech was one she’d heard before, but his enthusiasm was catching. And she found that she simply enjoyed being around him, lecture or not. She gave him a goofy smile and reassured, “No, but if you have one prepared, then I’d love to hear it.”

Obviously caught off guard, Cullen took a step back and then diverted his eye from her face to the ground for a moment. “Perhaps another time,” he chuckled.

Kate flashed him another goofy smile, and he held her gaze for a breath, and then sighed. Gazing at the soldier’s around them, he replied, “There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

“Yes, and I appreciate your openness to my request to go to Therinfal Redoubt. I know that it was a little odd.”

“Your story was certainly _interesting_ ,” Cullen said carefully, “But I’m relieved that you feel the need to pursue the templars. After what you happened in Val Royeaux, and stories I’ve heard from a few ex-templars that have come to us… well, it’s a relief that we’ll be looking into it.”

“You fear for the Order?”

Cullen exhaled and ran a haggard hand through his hair. “I may disagree with the Order’s actions – I’m here because of that – but I understand why they’re frustrated.”

Empathy. It was an attractive quality in a man.

“Do you miss being a templar?”

He stiffened. “I could – and still can – think of no better calling than to help those in need. I appreciated the training and education that the templars gave me, especially before I took on my full duties when I was eighteen. But,” he chuckled, “it wasn’t always exciting. I can remember a time during my studies where I was directed to recite the Chant of Transfigurations whilst also watching a candle burn down.”

“That does sound insufferably dull,” Kate blurted as he laughed at her frankness. She blushed and retracted, “I only meant that learning the Chant of Light and all it’s trappings must have been the boring part of your training.”

“Well, I wanted to learn everything I could,” he replied earnestly, “But, yes, some tasks were certainly more entertaining than others.”

“Like watching over the mages?”

He stiffened again and she kicked herself inwardly over her big mouth, but it seemed as if he was genuinely pondering her question. “I always preferred to think of it as _guarding_ the mages rather than watching over or policing them. A templar is the very first and last line of defence against blood magic or demons or… anyways, it was a responsibility that I took seriously.”

Kate bit her lip and tilted her head, studying his face. She wanted to ask him about his experience at the Circle in Ferelden or Kirkwall, but she didn’t want to push him too far. Instead, she asked, “So, other than your vow to _guard_ the mages, what else can you tell me about templar vows?”

“It’s more than just vows, I suppose. When you swear yourself to service, you also swear your life to the Maker and to the path we have chosen. I guess there is a vow to that, and also not to seek wealth or acknowledgement, and there is a vigil prior that is meant to be peaceful, but it can be daunting.”

Kate considered what he had just said, and then blurted, “So you cannot seek wealth or acknowledgement… are you also expected not to seek out _physical_ temptation?”

His eyes widened and he squirmed under her gaze. He brought his hands together and began to knot and unknot his fingers. “Physical?” he stuttered, “I… erm, why would you… I mean, templars can marry so long as the Order permits, and you could give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s not… required.”

Her heart beat fast in her chest as she gave him a sly half-smile. “And have you?”

Cullen’s face was almost completely red, and his jaw loosened involuntarily at her question. But his eyes did not leave hers, and as the seconds ticked by, Kate felt the energy between them change, twist, and intensify until she felt desire begin to overtake her, beginning first between her legs and then spreading to every inch of her body. Indeed, Cullen increased the frequency of knotting and unknotting his fingers, and she noticed that his hands had started to very slightly shake.

Finally, he stammered out, “ _Me_? I – erm – I’ve taken no such vows. I never even thought of… well, ahem, may we speak of something else?”

She chuckled and dipped her chin, looking up at him through her eyelashes and trying not to smile with satisfaction as she noticed him stiffen at her look. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention.”

 _Liar. I know exactly what you’re up to,_ his eyes said to her, mimicking her teasing manner. He smirked, but verbally accepted it, “It’s quite all right. Was there anything else you wanted to ask me about?”

“Well, now that you ask…” she began slyly, but gave him a wink that made him laugh. She continued, “You said that you’re from Ferelden?”

“I am,” he responded, visibly more relaxed, “I grew up in Honnleath, not far from here. Shortly after the Blight I was transferred to Kirkwall.”

“And you haven’t been back since?”

“It’s been - what, ten years? Honestly, I never expected to be back, and I’m not… well, I’ve come back to find nothing but chaos,” Cullen answered, a deep frustration within his tone, “And you? You’re Fereldan as well. Are you glad to be back?”

Kate tried not to snap, but she clenched her teeth. “I’m not Fereldan.”

“Oh, I thought that… I…”

“Avvar don’t think of themselves as anything but Avvar,” she explained gently, “But I was born in the Frostbacks, and I must admit that it’s glad to be back among them, even if I am not with my Hold. If anything, I am glad to be away from Ostwick.”

“That’s where your family is?”

“It’s where my father’s family is,” she said bitterly, “The Trevelyans and I don’t exactly… see eye to eye. My family is my clan: Stone-Bear Hold. Also not far from here.”

“Have you - forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds – ever considered returning there?”

“No,” she lied, unsure as to why it had been her first instinct, but Cullen seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m needed by the Inquisition now.”

“That you are,” Cullen agreed.

Kate took a deep breath and then shot him a smile. “I should probably go. Josephine and Leliana have asked that I meet with them prior to the Orlesian invasion. We’ll talk later?”

“I’m here if you need me,” he said warmly. He watched her walk away, and whispered to him, “You are very much needed.”

.........

“I feel like a cow gone to market,” Kate muttered under her breath as the group of six Orlesians circled her, tittering to each other in high-pitched voices behind intricate masks. They stood in the emptied-out Chantry, just in front of the War Room and among several newly-acquired statues of lions that Josephine had insisted be ready for the arrival.

Cullen chuckled beside her, but maintained his composure, keeping his hands securely clasped behind his back, his shoulders squared, and his chest broad. She tried to mimic him, but she knew that it only made her look pompous, so she relaxed a bit. She stood between Cullen and Cassandra, with Leliana on Cassandra’s left, so she felt mostly secure, but it was almost like watching a wyvern charge: her hand instinctively felt for her side dagger, but Josephine had specifically left out any hiding places for the dagger on her get-up.

“I am certain that the two women here require no introduction,” Josephine said that to the group, motioning to Cassandra and Leliana, “But may I formally present Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Lady Nightingale, the…”

“The Right and Left Hand of our dear, dear late Divine,” one of the noblewomen interrupted, clasping both Cassandra and Leliana’s hands and shaking them. “It is an absolutely honour to make your acquaintance!”

Cassandra grunted and gave a forced smile, but Leliana swept up the Orlesians in conversation, oozing grace and poise, much to the delight of their guests.

Beside her, Cullen murmured, “It’s become less of a market and more of a zoo.”

Kate snorted, “Agreed. And, just like a zoo, there’s no escape.”

Josephine shot them both a look, and they shut up, standing at attention again, but the humorous air lingered.

“May I also present Cullen Rutherford, the Inquisition’s Commander. He has joined us from Kirkwall and offers substantial knowledge of the Templar Order,” Josephine continued.

Cullen took a step forward and bowed. “A pleasure.”

Kate watched as the nobles descended upon him like vultures and was reminded of the way the nobility of Ostwick often did the same thing with her brothers. A good-looking man in a position of authority was like catnip to these kinds of people and, whilst it typically entertained her to watch nobility chase skirts and shirts, she felt herself grow annoyed at the bloodthirsty looks evident even behind the masks.

One of the noblewomen extended her hand for Cullen to kiss, giggling behind her mask. “ _Enchante,_ Commander. I am Comtesse Dulci de Launcet, and this is my husband, Comte Guillame de Launcet. We are _very_ familiar with your work in Kirkwall.”

Instead of kissing her hand, Cullen took it, bowed, and then dropped it. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Ladyship. Your Lordship.”

Kate stifled a laugh as the Comtesse’s body language reeked of insult, and then cleared her throat. Josephine perked up and Cullen took a step back.

“And, of course, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you Lady Catherine Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste,” Josephine announced with a flourish, leading the very unexpected curtsey.

Kate looked down and then over the Cassandra with searching eyes. Cassandra shrugged, and Kate bent a knee herself to return the curtsey. “We appreciate your assistance,” she said through a fake smile, “It will be an honour to approach the templars with the most distinguished Houses of Orlais.”

Comte de Launcet approached and shook her hand vigorously. “Your Worship, the honour is ours. We are honoured to have been asked to participate in this: we believe that it is akin to a Holy Calling, and are thrilled to accompany you as you navigate your own Holy Calling. Praise Andraste!”

The other nobles and her advisors echoed the sentiment, but Kate withheld. She smiled and clasped her own hand over the Comte’s, but he was looking at her as if expecting her to also say it. In fact, everyone was. But she couldn’t say it: it was as if it was on the tip of her tongue, hammering against her teeth to get out like vomit, but Kate couldn’t manage to say it. Instead, she broke the silence by blurting, “An honour all around, then!”

Josephine glared, and she heard Cullen’s muffled snort behind her. The Orlesian’s straightened up stiffly and Comte de Launcet dropped her hand. There was an awkward silence until Josephine piped up, “We have prepared quite the feast for you this evening, but first I would be remiss if I did not give you all a grand tour of Haven. The Marquis DuRellion will also be on hand to receive us shortly. Please, follow me!”

The air in the Chantry lifted, and the Orlesians clung to Josephine’s coattails, gossiping among themselves:

_Will DuRellion’s wife be joining us? I long to see what Lady Machen is wearing these days._

_That awful woman? I would hope that she remains in Denerim._

Kate breathed a sigh of relief and turned to retreat to the War Room with Cullen and Cassandra, but there was a cold, bony hand upon her wrist, and she soon realized that her relief had been premature. It was the Comte de Launcet, his mask removed, and his face red. She inhaled sharply.

“I would hope, _Herald_ , that Andraste’s chosen would also respect the blessing bestowed upon her by the Maker’s prophet herself, lest any of your carefully chosen allies think that you may not be worthy enough to carry it,” he hissed, his eyes bulging from his head.

“I… I beg your pardon, Your Lordship?” she stuttered, resisting the urge to twist from his grasp.

“I know of you, Catherine,” he spat, “Your father was a wandering pilferer who had your Avvar whore of a mother for a convenient fuck that just happened to result in _you_. And, somehow, it is upon your hand that the most Holy mark of Andraste sits. You should be careful that no one cuts it from your pretty hand.”

Kate clenched her teeth and bit her lip, but she was just about to open her mouth to tell him exactly where he could put his threats, when suddenly Cullen was at her side. He put a hand on the Comte’s wrist and de Launcet released her immediately, taking a step back and glowering at Cullen.

“Commander, you are intruding,” the Comte snapped.

“No, Your Lordship, _you_ are overstepping your bounds,” Cullen replied, his voice calm and measured, “You would do wise not to threaten Catherine, unless you’d like it to get back to the other Houses that you were blaspheming the Herald of Andraste?”

Comte de Launcet narrowed his eyes at Cullen and then pulled his mask over his face once more, but his eyes still shot daggers at the other man. “A simple misunderstanding. I must catch up with the others. Commander. Your _Worship_.”

Cullen continued to stand beside her, watching until the Comte de Launcet had exited the Chantry. As soon as the Chantry door slammed behind the Comte, he turned to Kate and placed his hands on both her shoulders, crouching to look her in the eye.

“Catherine, are you all right?”

She took a breath and then looked up at him. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“He shouldn’t have threatened you.”

“But he did.” She shrugged and gave him a half-hearted smirk. “Guess it just makes things a bit more interesting.”

Cullen sighed deeply, “And here I thought that we’d already had more than enough ‘interesting’.”


	11. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I know we can't stop what's coming  
>  But I will try, oh, how I'll try  
> Will you fight with me, brother?  
> One last time, one last fight?_  
> \- From “Brother” by Lord Huron

Therinfal Redoubt loomed from a distance more menacingly than she’d ever expected. It wasn’t the rain that sent a shiver through her spine but the way the fortress seemed to swallow the world around it and cast out a suffocating aura. Beside her she heard Varric let out a low whistle.

“A bit... ah, foreboding, no?” he asked, winking at her.

Kate bobbed her head and laughed ironically, “Just a bit.”

She stared up at the fortress and tried to imagine her brother living within it, but it wasn’t a picture that she could conjure in her mind: someone as vibrant as Paul had no business being cooped up somewhere so drab and suffocating. When he’d told them that he was going to become a templar, she’d been shocked – he’d always been in favour of her plan to run away and often ‘joked’ that he should join her, though she had always thought him serious through his jesting.

But, for Paul, the templars had been a welcome alternative to Chantry service. He was the youngest Trevelyan after all, and was expected to join the Chantry just as Lawrence had done, but he had squirmed under that expectation since Kate had known him. Paul’s dream had always been to become a travelling merchant, though he’d never been quite sure exactly _what_ wares he’d sell, but he’d wanted to travel all throughout Thedas and meet people. He was outgoing and brilliant, and she’d always felt that his flame was snuffed by the templars… but she supposed that it would have been even more so by the Chantry. Paul’s fate had been sealed for him very early on, and she had always pitied him for it.

She felt the presence of one of the Orlesian nobles beside her and turned to find Lord Abernache.

His eyes blinked at her underneath his mask. “A dismal place, no?”

Kate shifted and squared her shoulders, feeling Cassandra’s gaze upon her. Josephine had coached Kate extensively before their departure to Therinfal, forcing her to rehearse each noble’s name, how to address each noble properly given their titles, what their titles were, and how to – as Josephine put it – “act a lady”. She’d hated every minute of it and had flashed back to her etiquette lessons, but she could see the stress that Josephine was under and how important it was to her, and Kate was determined not to let her down.

She nodded at him. “I find that the rain can make most places feel a little damp,” she answered as diplomatically as she could. Behind her she heard Varric try to stifle his laughter.

Lord Abernache smiled and bowed to her. “Lord Esmeral Abernache, my Lady Herald. It is an honour to meet you and participate, though I wish it were somewhere a bit less… erm, _damp._ ”

Kate returned the bow. “A pleasure, my Lord. The Inquisition appreciates your participation.”

“Of course! It is not unlike the Second Dispersal of the Reclaimed Dales.” He extended his arm to her in a grand manner. “Care to mark the occasion? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you.”

“An alliance to be celebrated and a day to be marked,” she replied confidently, noticing the pleased look on Cassandra’s face as she did. “I do hope that this leads to further inspirational and influential partnerships.”

“As do I,” Abernache said approvingly, bowing to her again, “And so does the Lord Seeker, it seems.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Abernache continued, “He has agreed to hear our petition. A credit, it seems, to our most fortuitous alliance with the Inquisition.”

Solas mused from behind her, “And to the threat of the wrath of Orlais?"

Abernache narrowed his eyes and set his mouth in a thin line, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “No, elf. It seems that he is only interested in the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste in particular.” He motioned for them to begin walking towards the entrance. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why, upon learning of your arrival, that the Lord Seeker suddenly changed his mind?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The Lord Seeker sent word that he will only receive us once he meets the Inquisition, and you, _in person_ : he was very specific aut that. It was… most surprising after the spectacle he caused in Val Royeaux.”

Kate furrowed her brow, and Leliana’s words came rushing back to her: _Then perhaps he is warning you of a trick_. She looked up into the sky, searching it for any sort of activity – birds, bees, whatever – but it was only full of rain. She looked back to Abernache. “We have only ever asked that the Lord Seeker and the templars help us to close the Breach.”

“Hmm, then I suppose that your Ambassador has had a hand in this. If you ask me, diplomats work stranger magic than mages.”

She stifled a laugh.

“I’ve never believed that the Chantry truly took advantage of the templars. It is why I am in favour of supporting your Inquisition in this petition: wiser heads should steer them,” Abernache muttered as he walked ahead of her towards the mouth of the fortress. “Ah! And here we are: Therinal Redoubt!”

The stone in Kate’s stomach grew as she stared up towards the castle, more menacing and suffocating than ever. To her, the entire structure resembled a prison: somewhere awful and inescapable. Paul didn’t belong here. None of the templars did.

Abernache seemed to feel the same way. “A dismal place,” he repeated. “It looks as though they’ve sent someone to greet you. Present well, Your Worship.”

She bowed to him as he left and took another minute to survey the Redoubt, biting her lip. “Cassandra, the Lord Seeker changed his mind rather quickly. Is he known for that?”

Suspicion was evident upon Cassandra’s face, but she took a minute to think about her reply. “Something must have changed. But something also feels wrong here. We must be careful.”

As they made their way towards the entrance, Kate felt the stone in her stomach grow larger with each step. Indeed, her stomach likely wouldn’t settle until she had laid eyes on her brother to ensure that he was all right, so she quickened her pace. Just before she was about to pass through the entrance into the stable area, a crow flew overhead and called out one, short burst of laughter. Immediately, Kate looked up, but it was only just in time to watch the animal swoop towards the main tower and out of sight.

Beside her, Cassandra hissed, “Did you hear that? That… _laughter?_ ”

Kate’s breath hissed tightly through her teeth, “Yes. Like you said: something feels wrong here.”

Cassandra dipped her chin in a knowing nod, and Kate pressed forward towards where the messenger was standing and waiting for her, but she felt as though she were walking through waist-high water to get to him. Her ears squealed, and her head began to ache, but all that hammered inside of her skull was one thought: _Where is Paul?_

Abernache and his aide were already speaking to the messenger as Kate approached.

“I present Knight Templar Ser Delrin Barris, second son of Bann Jevrin Barris of Ferelden. Ser Barris, may I present Lord Esmeral Abern…”

Barris locked eyes with Kate and pushed past Abernache, giving her a desperate look.

“Bad move,” Varric murmured, “Abernache will take that as a slight.”

“I’m the one who sent word to Cullen,” Barris told her, looking her directly in the eye, “He said that the Inquisition seeks to close the Breach in the Veil?”

“That’s the plan,” she answered, “But we need your help.”

Barris gave the nobility surrounding them a disdainful look, landing on Abernache. “I, erm, didn’t think that you would bring such… _lofty_ company.”

Abernache, clearly offended, spat at Barris, “I know of your family, boy. Moderate holdings, and you the second son. Bah!”

Barris ignored him and spoke to Kate again, “My Lady Herald, it cannot have escaped your notice that the Lord Seeker changed his mind quickly the minute he learned of your arrival. He has never been one to seek out status, but now the promise of it excites him. We have petitioned him ourselves to do something about the tear in the Veil, but he promises nothing until you and half of Orlais arrived.”

“Yeah, Seeker,” Varric spoke up, looking at Cassandra, “Got any insights?”

Kate expected Cassandra to snipe back at Varric, but her concern evidently outweighed her disdain. “Seekers should only lead the templars this way in an emergency when there is no alternative. But the goal should be to restore order.”

“But he has taken command,” Barris said, his own concern beginning to deepen, “Permanently.”

Cassandra sighed deeply, “If he feels that there is a holy mandate…”

“That is what the Lord Seeker claims. Our commanders seem to agree, but… this is all beyond sense to me. He took command with the promise of restoring our honour, but we have been waiting here. For what?”

“It troubles you,” Kate stated.

Barris nodded, frowning. “A templar should know his duty, even when held from it. We should not be hiding here whilst the sky burns with magic. You must win the Lord Seeker over and return him to his senses. Do that, and the Templar Order will help you to mend the Veil.”

“It’s why we’re here, Ser Barris, but it’s good to hear it,” she responded, attempting to give him a reassuring smile.

“Do not be surprised if some of the officers do not seem relieved by your presence: they are such a mystery as of late. They support this hiding, especially after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour, so we hope that you can help us restore what once was,” Barris sighed.

Abernache rolled his eyes dramatically and snapped, “Don’t keep your betters waiting, Barris. We will not achieve anything if we stand here griping about it.”

Barris rolled his eyes briefly, but then jutted his chin towards the courtyard on the other side of the gate. As Abernache, Varric, Cassandra, and Solas filed past her, she caught Barris’s eye and mouthed, “A moment?”

“Yes, Your Worship?”

"M-my brother," she asked Barris, suddenly feeling timid and small, "Ser Paul Trevelyan? Is he here?"

Barris nodded. "He is, and he is looking forward to seeing you, Your Worship.”

“He’s all right?” she breathed.

“He shares my concerns about the Lord Seeker and the Order. He has assured us that if there is anyone who could help us, it’s you.”

Kate smiled to herself, relief washing through her. _Safe. Paul is safe._

“I’m eager to see him myself.”

Barris smiled. “Then let’s not ‘keep my betters waiting’.”

As they entered the courtyard, Kate noted that it was almost drabber and more dismal than the outside of the Redoubt, if it were possible. It was as if the lesser officers and knights had been made to congregate outside, and they all stared at her like statues as they entered the yard. Suddenly, one broke from formation and ran towards Kate, his helmet held securely in his left hand and a broad smile on his face. Paul hadn’t changed much: he still had floppy blonde hair that fell into his brown eyes that sparkled with a brilliant smile that most Orlesian’s would be jealous of. His mother used to say that Paul had a face “fit for an Orlesian mask” as he had beautiful hair, eyes, smile, and a strong chin, but his nose was hooked and seemed too large for his face.

Paul stopped a few inches in front of her and bowed. “Your Worship.”

Kate, overcome with relief, swept him up in a hug, clutching her arms together tightly around his neck and ignoring the way his armour protruded sharply into her chest. “You’re alive,” she whispered.

“I won’t be if you keep strangling me, Kate,” he laughed, coughing. “But I’m glad to see that you’re all right.”

She released him and turned to her companions. “Ser Paul Trevelyan, my brother.”

Paul gave them a brief smile in greeting, but his expression turned serious as he and Barris met eyes.

“The Lord Seeker has a… request before you meet him,” Paul said slowly as he and Barris traded knowing glances.

“What is it?” she asked.

Paul sighed and motioned for them to follow him towards a set of three standards. “It’s an honoured Rite. These standards are centred upon the people, the Maker, and the Order.”

Barris spoke up, “And the Lord Seeker’s request is that you complete this Rite so he can see the order in which you value them.”

“Though we protested on your behalf,” Paul blurted, “I told him that it was likely you would honour the people above all, but he insisted.”

Kate stared up at the standards and felt the stone in her stomach return, larger than before. “And if I fail this test?”

“There’s not supposed to be a ‘correct’ answer here, Your Worship. This ritual is meant to show what you value,” Barris told her, “It’s supposed to give insight into who you are.”

“He wants the Inquisition to do this?” she asked.

“Not the Inquisition, Katie,” Paul murmured, “ _You_.”

“Me?”

“The Lord Seeker changed everything to meet you. Not the Inquisition. _You_ , by name,” Barris answered.

“But… _why_?”

Paul shrugged. “He’s been fixated on you since you and your Orlesians arrived. He basically interrogated me about you before you got here: I was only allowed out of his office to greet you and see you complete the ritual.”

Abernache snorted, “This is an insult to not only the Inquisition, but to Orlais as well. Refuse this trivial task! Let’s meet the Lord Seeker already.”

Kate stared at Paul and Barris, and then looked again at the flags, wondering to herself why this ritual was even necessary. Everything just felt so... forced. So _off_.

As she turned towards the standards, one of the circling seabirds careened down from the sky and ran straight into the wall, smack dab in the middle of the Templar insignia-clad flag. It fell to the ground, stunned for a moment, and then hopped to its feet and returned to its spot in the sky. To her right, one of the templars began to laugh in conversation, and Kate felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

_He’s stalling you, Stormtamer._

Kate took a deep breath and turned back to Paul and Barris. “The Lord Seeker wastes my time with this ritual. If he is so curious, let him ask me about my values to my face. Enough stalling: we’ll see him now.”

Lord Abernache gave her an approving grunt, and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother’s undeniable smirk. Barris, on the other hand, simply looked worried.

....

Kate resisted the urge to tell Abernache to back off as she watched him slam his fist on the table separating he and Barris in the room Barris had led them into from the courtyard. As Abernache lectured Barris about battlefield semantics, she caught Paul’s gaze and chuckled as he rolled his eyes dramatically. She’d missed him terribly.

“Without faith, you’ve no knight! You’ve… Knight-Captain?” Barris turned towards where several officers had entered the room, walking up to the table. Immediately as Kate laid her eyes on them, she felt it: the temperature in the room seemed to have increased, and a low hum suddenly filled the area.

The Knight-Captain approached the table and stood at attention, not removing his helmet. “So this is why everything had to be pushed up? An impatient little girl?”

Kate stared him down. “Where is the Lord Seeker?”

Denam let out a menacing chuckle, “He sent me to die for you.”

Abernache backed away from the Knight-Captain and murmured in her ear, “Be careful, Your Worship. He is not well.”

Denam chuckled again, “ _This_ is the ‘Grand Alliance’ the Inquisition offers? This is nothing more than a joke.”

She set her jaw, mentally going through her equipment and which weapon she could draw quickest. “The only joke here is how the templars have responded to the Breach. The Inquisition seeks to amend that. To restore your honour.”

“Oh, we have a plan to restore our honour,” Denam seethed, “A plan that you ruined with your arrival. It sowed too much dissent.”

She heard muffled yelling and the clash of steel behind her and resisted the urge to break Denam’s glare to look towards the door to the courtyard. To her right, she saw Cassandra grip the hilt of her sword.

“Knight-Captain, I must know what’s going on!” Barris pleaded.

“You were supposed to be changed! You were all supposed to be changed!” Denam shouted, drawing his sword as the others around him stepped forward to reveal the red crystals in their eyes and the horrid, red-black veins pumping across their skin.

“Red lyrium!” she heard Varric yelp, and instinctively drew her dagger from it’s sheath.

Beside Denam, Paul and Barris drew their own weapons, seemingly waiting for Denam to make the first move. And Denam did: he turned to Paul and hissed, “Now we must purge the questioning knights!”

“How could you do this, Knight-Captain?” Paul asked desperately, lowering his sword for a moment.

“Paul, look out!” she heard herself scream, but it was too late. A moment was all Denam needed to close the distance between them and grab Paul by the shoulder. And, in one, swift movement, Denam plunged his sword into Paul’s heart.

And it was then that her world crashed down upon her as she watched Paul fall to his knees, his hands clutching at the sword in his chest as blood ran from his open mouth. As he began to teeter over and die, he looked over at his sister, keeping her gaze as his eyes glassed over and he fell to the ground.

“Paul, _no_!” Kate let out a deafening howl and, eyes blazing like wildfire, launched herself at Denam, her dagger aimed for his throat. He deftly blocked her with his sword, and she somersaulted away from him, but caught her footing and launched at him again, slashing frantically at him as she was consumed with grief and anger. Burned into her mind was Paul’s face: the shock and surprise upon it as he realized what was happening in the mere moments before his heart stopped.

There was a shocked stillness in the room as they watched her savagely attack Denam until Barris raised his sword and brought it down on the skull of one of the red templars.

But Kate was too focused on Denam to notice Cassandra defending Lord Abernache, Varric pumping bolt after bolt into the snipers shooting at Cassandra, or even feel the chill of Solas’ ice spells. Denam had taken the life of her brother and now he would pay with his.

As she slashed at him, Denam shouted back at her, “There is nothing you can do, Trevelyan! The Elder One is coming. No one will leave Therinfal who is not stained red!”

“Oh, you’ll see red,” she screamed at him, “But it won’t be lyrium. I’ll gut you!”

He parried several of her blows, lunging at her with his sword, but she deftly dodged his attacks. His armour was thick, however, and her dagger seemed only to be making dents. She’d need a sword of her own or, better yet, to disarm him from his. She rushed towards him and he lunged towards her again, but she slid to the floor and whipped around, tripping him with her feet. Denam fell to the floor, dropping his sword. It clattered across the stone before sticking into one of the wooden columns in the room. She scrambled to her feet to retrieve it, but one of the red templars’ arrows caught her across the face and she fell back onto her ass, clutching her cheek as she felt her skin open. Denam grabbed his sword and walked towards her, pointing it at her throat. She grasped desperately for her bow, but it was sandwiched between her and the floor, and her dagger was just within reaching distance, but it would give Denam enough time to stab her should she go for it. She was stuck.

“You’re going to die here, Trevelyan,” Denam hissed at her. “Any last words?”

She stared at him fiercely and spat out, “I don’t think so.”

“Knight-Captain!” Barris called out, “What have you done?”

Surprised, Denam turned to looked at Barris, giving Kate enough time to grab for her dagger. Before Denam could turn back towards her, she’d launched herself at him, jumping upon his back like a monkey, and had buried her dagger deep into his shoulder.

Denam cried out and sank to his knees, collapsing onto the floor. She yanked her dagger from him and he jerked, rolling onto his back and heaving.

“He still alive?” Varric asked, holstering Bianca and wiping the blood from his face.

“Barely,” Barris answered, kicking Denam with his boot, “If you use a healing elixir, he might survive. Though I am not sure if he deserves it.”

“We’ll heal him,” Kate responded through gritted teeth, “Then we can judge him. But we need to find the Lord Seeker. _Now_.”

The rest gave her a nod, and she noticed Abernache cowering in the corner beside a group of boxes but didn’t acknowledge him. She was focused on the pool of blood gathering under her brother’s body that was already beginning to stain the wood.

Kate knelt beside him and took his lifeless hand in hers, bringing it to her lips to kiss and her tears to splash down upon it. His skin was still warm, but the glossy look in her eyes confirmed that he was gone. She gently closed his eyelids and closed her eyes, still clutching his hand, arching her face up to the sky.

“Lo, my kin do call to me. They bid me take my place among them, in the Halls of The Lady, Mistress of the Skies. Where the brave may live forever,” she prayed, taking his other hand and laying them across his chest. She grabbed his sword and placed it upon his chest underneath his folded hands and stood. “I’ll be back for you,” she promised.

She cracked her neck and turned towards the door leading towards the castle, unholstering her bow. “The Lord Seeker has much to answer for.”


	12. Envy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We have lived in fear, and our fear has betrayed us  
>  But we will overcome the apathy that has made us  
> Because we are not alone in the dark with our demons  
> And we have made mistakes  
> But we've learned from them_
> 
> \- from "I Have Made Mistakes" by The Oh Hellos

They rushed through the rest of the Redoubt, saving as many untainted templars as they could, and cutting a swath through the red ones. Kate was shocked at the number of infected, and even more shocked at their grotesque appearances: they didn’t even look like people anymore, just moving crystals. To think of Paul being one of them was… she shook her head and put it out of her mind: the time for grieving was later.

But they were saving more than she’d expected: even some of the higher-ranking knights like the lieutenants were uninfected, and the group following and fighting with them grew as they attempted to reach the tower and the Knight-Captain’s office.

As they fought off the last of a large group surrounding one of the templar lieutenants close to Denam’s office, Barris shouted, “We must get to the Main Hall! If the Lord Seeker is anywhere, he’ll be there!”

“Some of these monsters have magic!” Varric shouted back, “And they fucking shoot the red stuff! What are you going to do if the Lord Seeker is like them? He could be stronger than Denam!”

Barris looked at the lieutenant and she tilted her head towards one of the buildings to their right. “Knight-Captain keeps the untainted lyrium in his office. You have the key?”

He tossed it to her and she caught it easily. He gestured to a few of the knights. “Help Lieutenant Briony with the lyrium and then meet us at the Main Hall. If the Lord Seeker has holed himself up there, we’ll need everything and everyone we can.”

“We’ll meet you there.”

Barris looked at Kate and raised an eyebrow. “Your Worship, I cannot say what the Lord Seeker may have planned. The Main Hall is just through this next building. Perhaps I should lead to protect you.”

She gave him a grateful smile and resisted the urge to protest. “Lead on, Ser Barris.”

As they rushed through the building, Kate found herself surprised that they hadn’t found any more red templars within it, and was even more surprised as they exited the building to find the steps leading to what she assumed was the Main Hall empty.

“Barris,” she murmured, “do you find it strange that we seem to be alone?”

“I do. Nothing about this feels right.”

She looked around and followed Barris up the stairs.

_The Herald of Andraste! It’s time we became better acquainted!_

Kate drew an arrow quickly and whipped around, immediately on guard, but she didn’t see anyone around them. “What was that?” she hissed.

“What was what?” Cassandra asked, her voice high and tense.

“That voice? Didn’t you hear it?”

“No, Catherine. What voice?"

“I… nevermind,” Kate brushed it off and followed Barris up the stairs again. But the voice wasn’t done:

_Come. Show me what sort of woman you really are._

“There! Did you hear it that time?” Kate asked frantically, her arrow drawn tightly across her bow.

“No, Your Worship,” Barris responded carefully, “There is no voice. But… look! At the top of the stairs: the Lord Seeker!”

They rushed up the stairs towards where the Lord Seeker stood, his back to them. She pushed past Barris and stood, heaving, her fists clenching and unclenching, and her eyes filled with rage.

“Your Worship, don’t!” Barris shouted, but she’d already charged the Lord Seeker, her hand reaching for her shoulder.

But she wasn’t prepared for the Lord Seeker to whip around and grab her outstretched hand, pulling her towards him and smirking, “At _last_.”

………..

When she came to, she was standing in the Fade. Or so she thought. It looked like a dream: hazy and eerie and somehow familiar all the while. But she wasn’t sure that it was her dream that she found herself in. Bodies burned in front of her, screaming just as they had at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The stench of magic and burned flesh and red lyrium filled the area, and the columned garden surrounding her looked just like the courtyard at her father’s estate in Ostwick.

“Oh,” she breathed. _Oh_. She wasn’t in a dream: she was in a nightmare.

She walked forward, careful to avoid the burning bodies, until she noticed a familiar face standing in front of one of the garden walls.

“Cullen?” she called, running towards him. “Cullen! Help me, I…”

But Cullen stood, staring off into the distance as if he didn’t see her. Off to the side she heard a distorted chuckle and watched, flabbergasted, as Leliana emerged.

“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?” Leliana asked, her voice mangled.

Kate took a step back and swallowed hard. No, not Leliana or Cullen: this was undoubtedly a demon. “Fuck you,” she seethed.

The demon laughed, “I will get to know you. Everything tells me about you.” It moved towards where the figure of Cullen was standing and raised a dagger that was identical to the one Kate carried and held it to his neck. “So will this: watch.”

As the demon dragged the dagger across “Cullen’s” neck and he sank to the floor, bleeding profusely from the wound, Kate felt her heart pound in her chest and a scream well up in her throat. She took a deep breath and swallowed the scream, trying to calm the fever in her chest, but the demon had elicited the reaction it wanted. It stared down at “Cullen” and then looked back at her and smiled.

“So that is the one you want. Then he truly shall be the first I kill.”

Kate felt hatred course through her body and snapped, “Are you trying to tempt me, or copy me?”

 _“Trying to copy me?”_ the demon mimicked in Kate’s voice, through it was warbled and distorted. But it was too familiar: the demon was too close.

“I have to get out of here,” Kate whispered to herself as the demon retreated into the shadows.

The demon laughed, taking on the shape of Josephine. “No, no. Stay. Being you will be _so much more_ interesting than being the Lord Seeker. I will take your mind for the Elder One. When he ascends, I will raise the Inquisition up beside him. And I will ride your body.”

“So this Elder One seeks godhood? Sounds like a mortal to me,” Kate shot back. “Isn’t that the kind of thinking that started the Blight?”

The demon chuckled, “You’re smarter than you look. Good, it will be nice to take your intelligence.”

“You will take nothing from me.”

“You _will_ die. Think of it as the beginning of your servitude to your new god.”

“Keep talking, then.”

The demon retreated, and Kate felt a moment of relief until she heard Cullen’s distorted voice behind her: “I am not your toy! I am Envy, and I _will_ know you! Tell me what you think. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you see.”

Fear hit her then: all-engulfing, paralyzing fear. She could not move or blink, and she felt her head begin to spin and her stomach begin to churn. She’d never done psychological battle with a demon before, and this was shaping up to be one of the hardest battles she’d ever fought. She could feel the demon at the door of her mind, attempting to break in by breaking it down. But she would fight. For Paul. For the Inquisition. For Cullen.

"Do your friends know you so well?" Envy hissed at her, "Not as well as I'll know you!"

She winced and gritted her teeth. “What could you possibly achieve by being me?!”

“ _What could you possibly achieve by being me?!”_ the demon mimicked, retreating once more into the shadows, “I'll wear that pretty face one way or another! You're just a barbarian – an illegitimate brat! I will make you MORE!”

She stood, watching as a path opened to the left of the garden. As she made her way towards it, she felt as though she was being watched over her shoulder and swung around to confront what she assumed would again be the demon but was instead greeted with two glowing yellow eyes within the slight silhouette of what she assumed was a man. The figure opened its mouth and began to laugh, but there was also a voice within the laughter: _This way. You need to go up. Follow the laughter._

Kate sprinted for the alternate path beyond the silhouetted figure and towards the voice and came to a stop within what looked to be a great hall: green lightning poured from two-headed dog columns that rotated all around the room and, right in her path, there stood Envy. It had taken her form.

“What?” it screeched, “How did you…?”

“Is Envy a lesser demon, then?” Kate taunted, “Or do you simply just lack control?”

“Taunting… trying to find my weakness. Is that the woman you are, _Stormtamer_?”

“I’ve already found your weakness.”

“And I believe I’ve found yours!” Envy shouted, “Let’s see you try to tame this storm!”

The columns burst to life, spitting lightning and rotating at an even faster rate. Envy smiled once and then disappeared, and a rushing sound filled the air as the ceiling above began to cloud over and rotate, purple lightning zig-zagging through it.

_Think of clear skies. Think of cool, calming. Think of water._

“Who’s there?” Kate called out.

_Think of water._

Out of the corner of her eye there was movement, and she noticed that a door had appeared to open, leading into a room that closely resembled her bedroom at her father’s house. She ran inside, expecting to find the yellow-eyed silhouette, but the room was empty. Kate turned to leave but came face to face with another figure: a blond boy, his eyes covered by the large-brimmed hat he wore, and his clothes tattered and patchwork.

She jumped at the sight but didn’t draw her bow. She was filled was curiosity instead of concern, and took a step towards the boy.

“Who are you?”

He knotted his fingers together. “I’m Cole. I’m here to hear for you, and to help. I hope.”

She took another step towards him.

“Envy hurt you,” he continued, speaking quickly, “Is hurting you. Banging at the door, trying to get in. I sensed the hurt and you called for help and then I was here. In the hearing. Hearing the hearing. It’s… not usually like this.”

“So you’re here to help me get out of here?”

“Well, you can’t. You can’t get out of your own head. But I can help you kick Envy out of your head. That’s why I’m here: to help.”

“What are you? A demon? A spirit? A god?”

“I’m here to help,” Cole repeated, “I’m not here to hurt. Envy makes everything loud – hurts the hearing. I’m here to make it quiet. To make your mind your own again.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who sent you? Are you working with Imhar? What are you?” she panicked, firing off questions quickly.

Cole looked at her and knotted his hands together again. “You have to keep going up. Envy gives more and more of itself the higher up you go, stretching thin, then tearing, like paper.”

“And if I stretch it thin enough I’ll kill it?”

“No, that’s what the templars outside are for. You just have to kick it out of your head.”

“Do you know why it wants to be me?”

“The Inquisition, and you, are tools. Tools for the Elder One, wielded by Envy like a sword. It will be the sword that cuts down Empress Celene and then cuts through Orlais. Demons will follow. They will burn the world to the ground for the Elder One.”

“This Elder One wants to assassinate Empress Celene? How do you know this?”

“The Lord Seeker was thinking it. Envy thinks it, too, because it is thinking his thoughts.”

“And this ‘Elder One’? Do you know what it is?”

Cole shrugged. “He’s too loud.”

“Too loud…” Kate shook her head and sighed, “Okay, Cole. What do I do?”

“Follow me,” he replied, running from the room and out into the great hall area that was now engulfed in a full-blown tempest. “Think of water!” he shouted above the noise of the storm.

So she did and, as if by magic, the storm cleared and the lightning pouring from the columns was replaced by dripping water. Of course it was magic, but… “How did you do that?” she asked Cole, gaping.

“I didn’t. You did. We’re in _your_ head. Just keep going up. Go through the doors. Envy will stretch.”

“Will you help me get there?”

Cole nodded at the solid wall in front of her. “Think of a door. Think of steps. Think of the Lord Seeker.”

She closed her eyes and imagined the door just beyond the body of where her brother lay: it was just a simple door, but the image of that fucking door would be burned in her mind for the rest of her life. It was the first door she walked through after losing her brother, the door to whatever the fuck was happening now, and – now – the door to kicking this fucking demon from her head. So she ran through it, hurtling up the stairs and ignoring just how intense the sense of déjà vu was: she was running through Therinfal… again. But this time it was different – demons battled Orlesians instead of templars fighting one another, though the screams and stench of death and blood were the same. But she kept running, hearing Cole’s voice in her head: _keep going up._

When she reached the steps towards the top of the Main Hall, she stopped for a minute. There was a figure at the top of the staircase, but it certainly didn’t look like the Lord Seeker.

“Why did you stop going up?” Cole asked, suddenly appearing beside her.

“What if I can’t kick Envy out of my head?” she whimpered, “What if I die here?”

“You can’t,” Cole said simply, “Too much depends on you. Your brother already died here. You can’t die here, too.”

She took a deep breath and, through sheer force of will, catapulted herself up the stairs. Grabbing the dagger from the figure’s hand and trying to imagine that the face she was staring into as the figure turned was anybody but her own, she plunged the dagger into the figure’s chest.

…..

“Your Worship?”

“Catherine?”

“Hey, Wildthing, wake up!”

_“CATHERINE!”_

Kate’s eyes flew open and she sat upright with a jerk. Her head pounded, but eventually the world came into focus,and she saw four sets of worried eyes looking down upon her: Barris, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. Her senses immediately rushed back to her and she smelled lyrium, sweat, and an odd musk that she’d also smelled in her head. She sprang to her feet, swaying from the head rush, and reached for her bow.

“Envy! The demon! It, it…”

“It’s dead,” Solas replied gravely, using his staff to help him up from his kneeling position. “The templars made short work of it.”

“With help from you, ser mage,” Barris acknowledged, “If you hadn’t incapacitated it, we never would have been able to vanquish it.”

Solas was nonchalant. “I’m glad that I could assist.”

Cassandra placed a gentle hand on Kate’s arm as Kate cradled her head in her hands. “The Lord Seeker, h-he… was a _demon_? _Envy?_ ”

Kate nodded. “He was. Envy told me that it wanted to be me instead.”

“So the Lord Seeker is…” Cassandra stuttered.

“Kidnapped or dead. But who would initiate such a thing?” Barris asked worriedly.

“Envy only spoke of something or someone that he called the ‘Elder One’,” Kate answered. “But Envy wasn’t the only part of the plan.”

“What do you mean?” Solas asked, moving forward and taking her wrist between his fingers. It didn’t automatically occur to her that he was feeling her pulse.

Kate tried to keep her voice calm and level, but her mind was racing. “There was a young man: I think that he was a spirit? His name was Cole. He said that it was all part of this Elder One’s plan: starting first by killing Empress Celene. Envy was to take my identity and use the Inquisition to help take over Orlais with a demon army. Where is Cole? He was with me – he could tell you himself.”

Solas gave her a concerned look. “What young man? The only two we saw were you and the Lord Seeker.”

She stared at him desperately. “But… Cole was with me. He helped me kick Envy out of my head.”

Solas shook his head. “I’m sorry, Catherine. There was no young man with you.”

Kate took a deep breath and nodded. “Then he must have been something that my mind made up to help me with the demon.”

“I’m glad that you were able to kick Envy from your head, Your Worship. But without the Lord Seeker…” Ser Barris sighed deeply. “I fear that the Templar Order is rudderless. This demon possession has only sullied our honour further.”

She tilted her head at him. “No. You are templars. You shall always have purpose and the Inquisition will help to restore the honour of the Templar Order. You can start by helping us to seal the Breach. You believe that you have a holy mandate? The sky burns with magic! Save Thedas by sealing the Breach.”

Barris looked around at the others, and it was obvious that they were waiting for him to make the decision. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

Kate squared her shoulders and stood at attention, her chin held high. “An alliance with the Inquisition is all we ask. With the backing of the Inquisition you can rebuild the Templar Order! Join us and Thedas will learn to trust the templars again.”

The templars around her stood straighter and the mood seemed to be more relaxed, but they continued to look towards Barris. Several of them parted to let a limping Abernache walk through the Main Hall and approach Kate, but most of them shot him angry glares as he passed.

“Y-your Worship,” Abernache stuttered, “I apologize for my lack of composure earlier. It was a moment of weakness most unbecoming of a man of my stature.”

She resisted telling him that yes, yes it was, but she gave him a weak smile. “Then I trust that you will uphold your end of our alliance, my Lord?”

Abernache nodded. “So long as the templars have agreed to assist with the Breach.”

Kate turned to Barris. “Have they?”

Barris drew in a deep breath and looked up at the Breach in the distance. He turned towards his templars and asked, “Brothers and Sisters, will we ally with the Inquisition? In the name of justice? In the name of all that is holy? In the name of the Templar Order?”

The templars took a knee in front of him, each hammering a fist across their heart and bowing their heads. Barris looked back at her and smiled. “Aye, Your Worship. The templars shall ally with your Inquisition. The Breach will be closed.”

Kate returned the smile with only slight trepidation. “At least Cullen will be pleased,” she muttered under her breath.

**Haven**

Cullen was not exactly _pleased_. The moment Kate and Cassandra arrived back at the War Room his brow seemed _extra_ furrowed and his lips seemed _extra_ pursed, but he had greeted them with a bow and a handshake respectively.

Josephine was ready with the very latest reports about how the rest of Thedas was reacting to the Inquisition’s alliance with the templars and the Orlesian noble houses, and it was hard not to notice how broad her smile was. “Lord Abernache has pledged himself and his House to the Inquisition’s service. It seems that he feels rather _badly_ about his action – or, rather, _inaction_ – at Therinfal Redoubt. He will be a great asset to have on our side,” Josephine was practically bubbling over, “And the templars will send several of their lieutenants ahead of the rest to help us close the Breach.”

Kate dipped her head and smiled briefly, her heart still black with the memory of her brother. How she wished that Paul could be among the templars joining the Inquisition: he would have made a better asset than Lord Abernache. She bit her lip: she mustn’t let it overcome her… but it was close to. Between the loss of Paul and the intrusion of Envy, she had found it difficult to focus on just about anything save putting one foot in front of the other.

“I – I am sorry about your brother, Your Worship,” Josephine continued, gazing timidly down at the floor, “I was informed of his loss. Do you need time to -?”

“I’ll be all right,” she lied, but picked up her head and sighed, “I would like to afford him the burial rights of a warrior, but I assume that my father has already made concessions to have Paul’s – Paul – sent back to Ostwick?”

Josephine bit her lip. “Yes, Your Worship. We did attempt to – "

“No, it’s all right. I figured it would be a fight. The last thing I want is for Paul to rot somewhere whilst we deal with bureaucracy,” Kate lied again: it _wasn’t_ all right. Paul had always delighted in her tales of the Avvar sky burial rituals and had made it known, much to the disgust of their father, that he wished his body to be taken to the heavens. He hadn’t cared if it was the Lady of the Skies or the Maker, but had delighted in the fact that his body would not be made to lie under a slab of rock or ‘collect dust’ within the family tomb. It had been his wish, but she’d failed him that, too.

Cassandra took a deep breath and placed a supportive hand firmly on Kate’s back, then changed the subject, “The templars were quick to offer allegiance, and I believe that Ser Barris will do well as the interim leader of the Order until we close the Breach.”

Across the table, Cullen shifted and stood stiffly, his lips tight. He eyed Kate carefully and then said, “Was the option of full recruitment not discussed with the templars?”

Cassandra shot him a warning glance, but he didn’t heed it, “The Inquisition would be stronger if we had recruited the templars: they require leadership and guidance in times like these.”

Kate’s blood started to boil, and she began to feel like a rabid animal backed into a corner. Her temper had always been a point of contention with most authority figures in her life: her mother, her Thane, her father, her stepmother, the Chantry…

“And who would you have suggested lead them had we asked them to fly the Inquisiton’s banner instead?” she snapped, “ _You_? Didn’t you _leave_ the Order?”

“I bare it no ill will, but my fear is that – “ he started to argue back, but flames began to lick the inside of her eyeballs.

“No ill will?” Kate laughed sarcastically, “You’d have them leashed and collared!”

“No, they would be full members of this organization! They need protection from further corruption and would be better protected under the Inquisition’s banner. This is further proof that this should have been the Inquisition's decision, not _yours_ alone," Cullen grumbled at her.

Kate glowered at him, her anger bubbling over. "Are you _serious_?" she hissed, "I've just come from kicking a demon out of my head, saving _your_ foolish Order from corrupting themselves into oblivion, killing said demon, recruiting the templars to help seal the Breach, watched my brother _die,_ and you're going to lecture  _me_?"

Cullen looked sheepish and opened his mouth to reply, but Kate was on a roll now: how _dare_ he question her decision? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other three women in the room trade a smug glance with each other that only grew the redder Cullen's cheeks got.

"If you wanted to have a say in it, you could have spoken to me before I left. _You_ wanted templars for the Breach, you got them! Don't you _dare_ lecture me about semantics," Kate continued, finally running out of steam. Her fists were clenched and her chest heaved, but she deflated. "I am... sorry for my outburst. I... may I have a moment? Alone."

Leliana and Cassandra walked from the room in an instant, but Josephine stopped for a moment to remind Kate to put her in touch with her smuggler contacts. Cullen stayed behind.

"Commander, please..."

"I apologize, Catherine," he murmured, trying to ignore the obvious way she winced as he said her name. "I realize that you have experienced much in a short time, and-“

“Cullen, the last thing I need is for you to be coming after me. You’re the only one that I feel that I can trust here: you’ve been an ally and a friend, and I…” Kate bit her lip to keep the tears from flowing.

He rushed around the table, and put his arm around her. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I didn’t mean any disrespect, but I truly believe that – “

“He believes that the templars are a fire that could burn out of control,” came Cole’s voice from behind Cullen. He sat on the edge of the war table, swinging his legs and kicking his heels against the large centre leg of the table underneath.

“What the -?” Cullen yelped, drawing his sword and pointing it at Cole, standing in front of Kate.

“Don’t!” Kate cried, pushing Cullen aside and rushing to Cole. She set her hands atop his shoulders and searched for his eyes under his mess of hair. “Cole? Is that you?”

“I would’ve come sooner, but the templars needed me. So many hurts that needed healing,” he brushed a bit of hair out of his eyes and looked at her, “Sorry.”

Leliana and Cassandra rushed in behind them, but Kate put up a hand. “It’s all right! This is Cole. He helped me kick Envy out of my head. He’s here to help.”

“How did he get in here?” Cassandra sputtered.

“I was here the whole time. You just couldn’t see me,” Cole answered plainly.

Cassandra gaped, but didn’t seem able to form words. Kate stifled a chuckle.

“I came to help. You’re going to need it. I can fight. I can kill the corrupted ones,” Cole insisted, his voice pitching higher, “I want to help.”

Kate looked over at Cullen, who still had his sword drawn and pointed at Cole. He gave his head a small shake at her: _no_.

She smiled and turned to Cole. “You can stay, Cole. Just mind yourself. Be ready when I call you.”

Cullen glared at her but sheathed his sword reluctantly. He extended a stiff hand to Cole, but Cole vanished suddenly, and Cassandra gasped, “Wha – where did her go?”

Kate chuckled again, feeling suddenly lighthearted. “He’ll do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: some dialogue was taken directly from the game. All credit goes to Bioware.


	13. Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She’s got a demon in her head  
>  They’ve been dreamin’ up a storm in a cloudy haze  
> We don’t sleep much  
> She don’t say a word  
> But this feeling echoes louder than a message heard._
> 
> \- From “Lover’s Side” by Old Pines

Kate woke up in the middle of a scream.

The night terror had been brutal, and she checked around her quarters to ensure that the Envy demon from Therinfal was only in her dream. She settled back down, too shaken to return to sleep, the demon's shouts still ringing in her ears:  _I'll wear that pretty face one way or another! You're just a barbarian – an illegitimate brat! I will make you MORE!_

The sound of heavy footsteps jerked her back to reality, and she barely had time to pull the covers over her naked body before Cullen burst through the door, dressed in his nightclothes with his sword drawn, and flanked by Jim the messenger.

"Catherine! Are you all right?" Cullen asked breathlessly, "They said there was screaming."

He entered her quarters and began to look around, as if expecting something to pop out from one of the dark corners of the cabin. His sword was still drawn, and Kate couldn't help but appreciate the confident way he held it, especially now that he was out of the armour that was obviously a crutch. She shook her head and tried to suppress a smirk:  _Lady, he is an attractive man._

She could hear Thane Sun-Hair chiding her:  _A lowlander? Did you fall and hit yer head?_  

And then the thane's voice replaced by her stepmother's: _If you are to be a Trevelyan, then you are to act like one! No Trevelyan would pine after a commoner!_

Kate didn't realize she was staring until Cullen's voice brought her back to reality. "Ahem, Herald? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, um, yes. Nightmare is all," she mutters, pulling the covers tighter under her chin.

Cullen looked her over and then it suddenly seemed to dawn on him that she was naked. His eyes widened and he began to back out of the house. "I... I am so sorry, Herald. I shouldn't have just barged in. I didn’t realize that… ahem…"

She chuckled, "I appreciate the concern. And please... call me-"

"Catherine. My apologies. I'll just... uh, I'll leave you to get back to sleep."

"Thank you."

He gave her an awkward smile, but paused before he shut the door. "Aren't you  _cold_?" 

Kate laughed, "I'm Avvar-there's no such thing as cold."

***

Cullen noticed the change in Kate after Therinfal immediately. He began to hear the messengers whisper about her recurring night terrors, and she seemed withdrawn and in constant thought, a shade of the effervescent, enthusiastic woman that she'd been before heading to the Redoubt. He assumed it had something to do with the Envy demon and her brother’s death - he was no stranger to loss and demons playing head games - but he had never figured her as someone that would allow it to affect her so adversely. She always seemed so self-assured, confident, calm, and collected, and now it was as if her bright flame had been snuffed right out. He noticed her trying her best to seem like the woman she was before, but she wasn’t. She just… wasn’t.

He watched her walk across the yard, her quiver and bow strapped to her back, and a small knife grasped tightly in her right hand. She had a determined look on her face as she headed out towards the woods, and he found himself curious as to what she was up to. Turning to his lieutenant, Cullen said, "I must speak with the Herald. Lieutenant, have them complete the drills and then break for water and instruction."

"Of course, Commander."

Cullen nodded and then set off after where Kate had disappeared to, his senses on high alert. Several of the recruits had mentioned they'd seen a pack of wolves stalking the area, and he had no desire to run into even one of the creatures lest the whole pack.

He made his way past the perimeter fence and into the clearing, and immediately he felt that something was off. The clearing was completely empty, save for a few druffalo roaming a few hundred feet in front of him, and only a very slight breeze ruffled through the pines. Kate was nowhere in sight.

"Herald?" he called out, taking a few steps forward. He scanned the area and felt his breath hitch as his eyes fell upon a large patch of red maybe ten feet to his left. It looked as though something had been killed there and then dragged away. "Catherine!" he shouted desperately, beginning to run through the thick snow towards the blood trail.

As he rounded a large pine tree where the trail had started to peter out, he almost dropped to his knees in relief: the Herald was sitting on a large, flat rock, the partially-skinned body of a ram at her feet, her bow and quiver beside her. She seemed to be examining the creature's horns.

"Catherine!" he cried, beginning to rush towards her, but she stood abruptly and grabbed her bow and a single arrow, her eyes wide.

"Cullen, don't move!" she shouted, aiming the arrow at his head.

"What the-?" he yelped as the arrow whipped by his head, seeming to only narrowly miss grazing his skin, and thwacked into something behind him. He turned in time to see a massive black wolf collapse to the snow behind him, Kate’s arrow sticking straight out of its skull between its eyes.

"Drag that thing over here, will you?" Kate asked, sitting back down and resuming her examination of the ram's skull as if it were nothing, "I can use the pelt."

Cullen gaped at her. "Uh, thank you?"

"You need to be more careful. With your pauldrons the thing had you pegged as prey," she chuckled.

He picked the wolf up by the front paws and dragged it to where she was sitting. "May I?" he asked as he set the wolf's body down at her feet, gesturing to the empty space beside her. 

She nodded and tilted her head to the side to indicate that he could sit, sighing as she dropped the ram's head and grabbed her knife again. "Another one with warped horns," she muttered to herself, "from the Breach?"

"What's wrong with them?" he asked.

Kate reached down and grabbed the ram's head, tilting it so Cullen could see the right horn. The thing gave him a blank, dead stare and its tongue lolled out of its mouth as she showed it to him. He tried not to laugh. "Look here," she pointed to the end of the horn's curl, where it looked like it had been wrapped around someone's finger, "I've seen weird horns before, but nothing like this, and definitely not consistent abnormalities within the entire herd. It's strange, don't you think?"

"Is ‘strange’ truly that uncommon anymore?" he replied. 

Kate threw her head back, strands of her red hair coming loose from her ponytail and falling into her face. He couldn't help but smile at her: there was something about her smile that was so contagious. It lit up her face and seemed to reach her eyes and, _Maker_ , she certainly was pretty when she smiled.

"I suppose not. After everything we've been through..." she trailed off, her smile fading fast. "Well, I guess there is no limit on how strange things can get, yes?"

Cullen nodded silently, studying her face. She seemed to have closed herself off again, and he found himself pining for her smile. As he struggled to find words, she gave him a dull look and fidgeted impatiently with her knife. "Now, I should probably get back to skinning this thing, unless you were seeking me out for a reason?"

"I..." he stammered, suddenly feeling very small under the intense gaze of her green eyes, "I wanted to check on you."

"Because of the wolves?"

"Because of the demon. Envy. Your brother’s death."

He felt her stiffen beside him, and watched as her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. She turned her gaze away from him and back to the ram, brandishing her knife and slipping it under the thing's fur, cutting expertly. He tried not to gag.

"What about them?" she asked in a clipped voice.

Shit. He’d overstepped, but he was too far in now, and he was genuinely concerned for her. "You seem... different. And I thought maybe you... ah, wanted to talk about what happened?”

Kate sniffed and resumed her focus on the ram, her jaw still clenched and her lips pursed tightly.

Cullen decided that he wouldn’t even broach the subject of her brother, but murmured, “Look, I'm no stranger to demons. And I've heard that you've been having more night terrors..." he stopped talking as she pulled the knife out from the ram and set it down beside her, her hands shaking and her jaw so tight he swore he could see the outline of where it connected with her skull.

"Oh? And, pray tell, what do  _you_  know of demons getting into your head?" she snapped, "Envy treated my mind as if it were its own, personal playground. The things it did, the things it showed me... Envy’s influence _murdered_ my brother," Kate shuddered and he watched the blood drain from her face. "How could I _possibly_ be the same person after that? If it hadn’t been for Cole, it would have taken. My. Face."

Cullen tried not to look as though he pitied her, but he couldn't help it. He was full of empathy, but he had no desire to tell her about the desire demon at Kinloch and what it had done to him. "I know enough about demons and what they can do when they get inside your head. I wouldn't expect you to be the same, but I don't want you to lose yourself to this. I just want you to know that you don't have to deal with this alone. If you ever need anyone... I'm here for you."

She bit her lip thoughtfully and stared up at the mountains. "I appreciate it, Cullen," she said after a long pause. Her voice was soft. "I guess… I've always just dealt with difficult things myself. I've never really had a... a friend that I could lean on. Except for Paul or Lawrence. And now they’re both dead."

"It's no trouble."

She gave him a half-hearted smile and sighed, pulling her hair from the ponytail and allowing it to spill onto her shoulders. She gave her head a shake and he was enveloped by the smell of spice wafting from her hair. It made him feel warm and comfortable, and he leaned back against the boulder. 

"Growing up I was taught to rely on the signs from the gods, like when the Lady of the Skies would send warnings and omens through the birds, and I believed it. I took solace in it. I still do: you know that it was what called me to Therinfal.”

Kate sighed deeply and continued, “And then my father came for me, and the _second_ that I arrived in Ostwick I was a project: a wrong to be corrected. A _barbarian_. I was told that everything I was taught was wrong. But I still had faith in the gods: I still looked to them for guidance and assurance that they were looking out for me. But I was naive enough to think that, out of all of the eyes that are supposedly looking out for me, it wasn't my faith or my will or a divine touch that saved me. It was _Cole_ : a complete unknown. Just a seemingly normal ... person? Spirit? Regardless, _he_ was there when 'they' were not. _He_ was all that stood between me and Envy," she began to tear up, but wiped the drops from her cheek hastily, smearing the ram's blood across it. "If something can get into my head, then what good is my weapon? How can I protect myself against all of that evil? If I couldn't fight against Envy myself, then how can I repel others in the Fade when I dream? They know my name now - they have my scent! They come after me when I sleep, and I’m fucking terrified," she whispered through clenched teeth, her fists tight and her face hard. 

Cullen was taken aback at her demeanour and openness. He wanted to tell her to rely on her faith, but he wasn't even certain what her faith was at this point. Slowly, he draped his arm across her shoulders and brought her in close, feeling her sink into him and nestle her head under his chin.

"I wish I was a dwarf," she whispered.

He couldn't help but laugh, "What! Why?"

She craned her neck to peer up at him, her face earnest. "So then I couldn't dream. The demons wouldn't be able to find me."

Cullen looked down at her and wiped the blood from her cheek gently. She gave him a closed-mouth smile and blinked heavily, and he felt his heart come close to bursting. Here she was, in his arms, one of the strongest, fiercest women he knew, being so open and vulnerable with him, and he felt himself falling for her. It had far surpassed the familiar feeling of infatuation that had washed over him for the past few months and had grown into something more. But she had only called him a friend, and she needed a confidante - someone secure and stable and understanding - and not a lover, so his innate urge to protect her overcame the urge to kiss her and he returned the smile.

"Perhaps I could move a cot into your cabin, at least for the next few nights?" he heard himself suggest, "Then if you are confronted by demons in the Fade, you do not have to wake up alone."

"You'd do that for me?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Of course," he murmured, closing his eyes and cursing himself for not thinking before he spoke, "What are friends for?"

****

The night was shattered by Kate's scream, and he felt himself rise instinctively from his cot and move over to her bed, still groggy from sleep. But, instead of sitting beside her and softly comforting her as he usually did, he was stopped in his tracks by a black figure standing over her.

Cullen reached for his sword.

"You're here because you want to protect her," Cole's voice hummed in the darkness, and Cullen's eyes finally adjusted enough to make out the scraggly blond hair and patchwork hat. He paused and sat up in the cot, running his hands slowly through his hair and exhaling slowly.

"Cole, what are you doing here?" Cullen whispered.

Cole turned back towards Kate, who was now back to sleeping peacefully. "I come when I'm needed."

"Why haven't you helped all the other nights she's had nightmares?"

" _She_ doesn't need me. She'll be all right in time. Her mind is stronger than she thinks. I'm here for _you_."

"What?"

"You're here because you want to protect her, but you think that if you help her fight the demons that they might leave you alone, too," Cole told him, still looking down at Kate, "You have scars that are still healing from the cuts you suffered. You have regrets over how you treated some of the mages at Kinloch, and you think that by helping the Herald it might make up for it. Even in a small way. Helping, healing, motivating, training... commanding. You give bits of yourself so that you can forget what happened."

Cullen stood, unable to move, listening to Cole as if he were under a spell. 

Cole continued, "You don't let anyone in because you don't want to hurt them. You are afraid you might say words that will hurt her, too. But it isn't your fault. You can't change what happened."

"Cole..."

"You should let yourself lean on her like she leans on you."

"But..."

"She wanted you to kiss her."

"What?"

"That day she saved you from the wolf. When you told her she wasn't alone. She thought you would kiss her, but you didn't, and now she wonders if you ever will," Cole turned to face Cullen, now, his eyes oddly soothing as they appeared almost transparent in the moonlight. "She still wants you to."

And, then, he was gone, leaving Cullen sitting on his cot, tired, confused, and absolutely bewildered.


	14. Four Bulls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _We go out in stormy weather  
>  We rarely practice discern  
> We make love to some weird sin  
> We seek out the taciturn  
> And that's the way we get by_  
> \- from “The Way We Get By” by Spoon

**Vivienne**

Lady, she detested Val Royeaux. She’d always wanted to see it, especially after listening to Trader Helsdim’s endless stories about the beauty of the place. If she ever made it back to the Basin, she’d tell him that he’d been wrong: Val Royeaux was a shiny exterior hiding deceit and bullshit. She could imagine that he wouldn’t be pleased to hear it, but doubted he’d be surprised that she felt that way.

They’d come back to Val Royeaux for two reasons: to attend the salon of Madame de Fer and to investigate a string of letters that had pointed to someone called “Red Jenny” who had promised to deliver one of the Inquisition’s most outspoken critics. Kate had protested profusely, but Josephine had insisted on both, and so she found herself yet again in Val Royeaux.

As she entered the salon, grumbling away in her head, she wasn’t expecting to be announced, and jumped as the Court Marshal cried out, “ _Lady Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste!”_

The minute her name was announced, she was swarmed by Orlesians asking her intrusive questions and fawning over her. So she was actually relieved when she heard on the stairs behind her, “Bah! The Inquisition? A bunch of washed up Seekers and crazed sisters?”

Kate smiled and examined the rapier that the man had holstered, knowing that it wouldn’t hold up against her daggers. At least things were starting to get interesting. “Well, only one Seeker and Sister Leliana. You haven’t done your research, have you?”

Amused laughter rang out through the crowd that had gathered around them, and Kate folded her arms in front of her chest as the man pointed his finger at her. “And yet I know exactly who you are, _Herald_. What would Andraste think about having a barbarian as a mouthpiece? The Inquisition is nothing but a joke, and you are the most comical of it all.”

She clenched her teeth and her fists. “You’ll regret saying that.”

“Oh? Are you attempting to defend your honour? Let’s- “ the man started to draw his rapier, but he was overcome by an ice spell and frozen stiff.

“Alphonse,” came the elegant voice from the top of the stairs, “Are you attempting to cause a scene here? At _my_ salon?”

Through chattering teeth, Alphonse replied, “M-madame Vivienne!”

Madame de Fer was as lovely as Kate had heard, but there was something about the pompous air of the woman that made Kate’s stomach churn: it was a feeling all too familiar to Kate. She felt as if she was in the presence of one of her stepmother’s friends, being constantly judged on every move she made.

Vivienne turned to Kate. “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this affair. What would you have me do?” 

Kate shrugged. “He means nothing to me, do with him as you’d like.”

Vivienne snapped her fingers and the ice spell wore off. Alphonse staggered, coughing, as Vivienne crossed her arms and looked him up and down, her mouth pursed into a mischievous smile. “Why, Alphonse, is that your Aunt Solange’s doublet? Shame that you’re here, wearing _that_ , when all of the brave chevaliers are off fighting. Run along now, dear, you must warm up.”

Alphonse scuttled off without looking at Kate, and Kate looked at Vivienne. Madame de Fer motioned for her to leave the ballroom, and so Kate followed her into one of the vestibules just outside.

“I apologize for that scene in there, Your Worship. Alphonse will undoubtedly be disowned for such a scene. To be honest, I was expecting you to request his life. It may have been more merciful.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Why were you expecting that?”

“Why, you’re Avvar are you not? I expected that ruthless bloodthirst was simply part of who you are. You did ally with the templars after all.”

Kate gaped at her, feeling the weight of the perceived insult, but unsure of how to respond as it was so stealthily delivered. Vivienne was obviously a great player of the Game in Orlais, and Kate was struck first by annoyance and then was simply impressed. She didn’t like the woman but having Vivienne on their side would undoubtedly be an asset.

“Yes, well, is that why you called me here?”

“I’m impressed in your decision to ally with the templars.”

“But you’re a mage,” Kate blurted. “I thought – “

“I am not _just_ a mage. I am the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas my dear,” Vivienne replied coolly, “We seek to have the Circles restored and the templars return to the Chantry. You have proven yourself to be like-minded, and I wanted to offer you my own allegiance.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “I may have brokered the alliance between the Inquisition and the templars, Madame de Fer, but I don’t support the Circles or the Chantry. So I’m afraid that your faith may be misplaced.”

Vivienne gave her a strained smile. “On the contrary, my dear. I believe now more than ever that you require someone of my caliber and strengths within the Inquisition. I have connections within Orlais that run deep, darling, and you would be a fool not to take advantage of that.”

“I am no fool,” Kate responded.

“Then I shall meet you at Haven.”

 

**Sera**

“This feels like a trap,” Varric announced, just as they were nearing the entrance to the alleyway the Red Jenny letters had pointed them to.

“It’s worth investigating,” Kate insisted.

He rolled his eyes at her, but unholstered Bianca from his back and sighed, “Then don’t get mad at me later when I tell you ‘I told you so’.”

Cassandra let out a disgusted noise, and Solas simply chuckled from beside Varric. Kate rolled her own eyes and unholstered his own weapon, placing a finger to her lips as she dropped into stealth and moved into the alley. There were three swordsmen: two within the lower part of the alleyway and one standing above them, just up some stairs. She’d have to take out the one up the stairs to get the high ground _and_ the flank on her own. She crept up the stairs and dropped out of stealth to drag her dagger across the throat of the swordsman and then hopped up on the fence, whistling low to command her companions to attack. As the swordsman below her ran at the others, she dropped from stealth and leapt backwards, sending a storm of arrows at their backs. They didn’t stand a chance.

“See?” Varric huffed as soon as they were dead, “Trap.”

“We still don’t know that, Varric,” Kate sighed, “Keep your ‘I told you so’s until we know for sure.”

“I doubt he will,” Cassandra muttered.

“What was that, Seeker?” Varric shouted.

“Nothing! Nothing,” Cassandra shouted back.

“No, no. Go ahead: say it again,” he taunted, but Kate held a silencing hand. She pushed open the double doors in front of her and ducked, dodging the fire ball sent at her head by an elegantly dressed man, standing in the centre of a dark courtyard. Her companions automatically flanked her.

“Herald of Andraste! How much did it cost you to find me? It must have set the Inquisition back immeasurably,” the noble demanded, fire still emanating from his hands.

Kate took a confused step forward. “Erm, I don’t know who you are.”

He laughed, “Don’t patronize me! I’m too important for –“

There was a shout from the guard to Kate’s left, and an elf appeared from behind the crumpled body, aiming her arrow at the noble. “Just say what!” the elf shouted.

“What is the -?” the arrow sliced through the air and hit the noble right in the throat, and a gurgling sound came from his mouth as he sank to the ground.

The elven archer walked over and yanked her arrow from the noble’s throat, a disgusted look on her face. “Ugh! Squishy one, but you heard me, right? ‘Just say what!’ Nobles always get more than they deserve.”

Kate’s confusion deepened. “What?”

“Name’s Sera,” the elf said, drawing her bow again. She nodded towards a gate at the far end of the alleyway. “This is cover: get ‘round it. More guards are on their way.”

“I… wait…”

“But they’ve got no breeches!” Sera screeched, laughing manically as she sunk arrow after arrow into the pantsless guards that ran out towards them. Kate staggered at first, but they assisted Sera until the guards lay dead, and still pantsless, at their feet.

Sera crouched again, yanking her arrows from each body. Kate watched her and was impressed at the placement of Sera’s arrows: centre of the skull, centre of the torso – it was impressive for a random elf who was dressed in tattered clothing.

Sera holstered her bow and turned to Kate, a broad smile plastered on her face. “Herald of Andraste. You’re an odd one. I’d like to join.”

“Uh… what?” Kate asked her. “Just like that?”

“Look, I can’t shoot arrows at the Breach, but I can shoot arrows at baddies like this pish. My friends can tell us where baddies like _him_ are, and we can shoot them. Easy, innit?”

“Your friends? What are you talking about? Like an underground army?"

“Not an _army_. My friends are the little guys that get stepped on by arseholes like that guy. That’s the kind of guy that beats his servants and talks about the Breach like it’s a good thing. Better dead than talking, don’t you think? That’s what my friends do: the friends of Red Jenny. That’s me! Well, not just me… there’s one in Montfort and…”

“But you just said that your name was-”

“Sera.”

“Not Red Jenny.”

“Look, here in your face, I’m Sera. Red Jenny is for the little people to call me: gives ‘em hope or some pish like that, yeah?”

Kate looked her over and extended her hand. “Then welcome aboard, Sera. I look forward to working with you and your friends.”

Sera looked down at her hand and then shook it gingerly. “Great, yeah? I’ll see you at Haven, Herald. This will be grand!”

**Blackwall**

The best thing about the Hinterlands was that it was the one place she’d travelled to that actually felt closest to home: the mountains and the water were comforting to Kate, and it was, thankfully, a far cry from Val Royeaux. This time they had no room to wander, however – they’d been given a clear directive: find a Warden recently seen by the lake above the Crossroads named Blackwall.

Kate had heard the stories of the Wardens and knew all the stories of the Blights. She’d just arrived in Ostwick when the Fifth Blight broke out, and her concerns at that time hadn’t been the darkspawn but rebelling against her father and his wife. But she’d become just as swept up in the romantic story of Ferelden’s King Alistair and his wife like everyone else had, though she’d never admit it out loud. The importance of the Wardens had been reiterated to all of Thedas, but there was something about them that Kate found untrustworthy. But the Blights needed to be stopped, and the Wardens were the only ones who could do it. Hopefully Blackwall could shine some light on where they’d disappeared to, or so was Leliana’s hope.

She spotted a group of people gathered by the cabin on the lake as they came over the hill, and splashed through the shallows to move closer. She saw the distinctly Warden helmet on the broader man and, as they moved closer, noticed that the men he was talking to were mere boys. It wasn’t until they were within earshot that Kate heard him barking orders to the boys.

“They will make this a fight, not us!” Blackwall was saying. He straightened up as Kate approached him.

“Warden Blackwall?” she called out, moving towards him.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” he commanded. But, before she could answer, he yelled out and brought his shield up to block an arrow from sinking into her skull. She gave him a grateful look, but he furrowed his brow and told her, “That’s it! Help or get out – we’re dealing with these idiots first.”

Bandits swarmed from the other side of the cabin, and Kate nodded at her companions to assist. They made short work of their attackers, and Kate turned to Blackwall, but he was crouching over one of the bandit bodies. “Idiots,” he repeated before standing and motioning to the boys. “Take back what they stole and then return to your families. Don’t let them take from you again.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and spoke up, “Training the locals to fight back?”

Blackwall kept his back turned to her. “Better than having their homes raided by bandits.”

“You have a point.”

He finally faced her. “Mind telling me who you are and why you’re here?”

“I’m Kate. The – erm, an agent of the Inquisition. We’re looking into the disappearance of the Wardens. We were told that you might be able to help.”

“I work alone,” Blackwall replied abruptly, “Recruiting and such. But that’s what the Wardens do, don’t we? Blight is ten years gone, Archdemon dead, the Wardens disappear.”

“The Inquisition isn’t so sure,” Kate murmured, biting her lip.

“Then maybe there’s a new directive,” Blackwall offered, “And I just haven’t heard of it. Maybe a runner got lost or something.”

Kate sighed and gave him a limp, defeated look. “That’s all you can offer?”

“I don’t know anything about any Wardens disappearing. Unless you’re after them for some other reason. Wait… you don’t think that we could have been involved with the Breach, do you?”

“We’re not blaming Wardens,” Kate assured him, “Not yet, at least. But thank you anyways, Warden Blackwall.”

She moved past him and was about to walk back onto the dock to cross the lake when Blackwall spoke up, “Wait – Inquisition? Agent, you said?”

“Yes?”

“Times like these, it’s better to know that we’re not involved instead of thinking that we are. So maybe you need me. Maybe you need a Warden.”

“And what can one Warden do?” she asked.

Blackwall shot her a lopsided smile. “Save the fucking world, if pressed.”

**Iron Bull**

Kate felt as if her eyes were going to roll out of her head, she’d been ‘looking at the sky’ so much. It wasn’t the rain on the Storm Coast or the persistent smell of wet dog everywhere, but Varric’s incessant complaining that was just about to do her in.

Thankfully, this was their last stop before heading back to Haven. The messenger for the Buller’s Chargers’ offer had been too tempting, and if all they had to do was observe a mercenary company fight off Tevinter spies, then she was up for it. At least they’d get some entertainment out of it. She hoped Varric would eventually stop complaining before she threw him from one of the cliffs, though.

The mercenaries were easy to find, and it looked as though they’d already fought several battles upon the beach. They were just finishing up the last of the Tevinters as Kate and her companions came over the hill, and Kate crouched on top of the slope and stared down at the massive qunari who had just crushed a skull with his large battle axe. Even from her vantage point, he was a towering giant. She’d heard stories about qunari, especially after what happened in Kirkwall, but she’d never seen one in person before. He was certainly impressive, and those _horns_ – she’d never seen anything like them. She knew them to be fierce warriors with a widely misunderstood religion and way of life, so she’d always felt sympathetic to the qunari peoples, but also had a healthy level of respect for them, too. The nobles in Ostwick had talked about the qunari the same way they talked about her – with disdain and fear.

As the last Tevinter was pounced upon and vanquished by the qunari’s men, Kate slid down the hill and approached the group, her hands held above her head. “I’m looking for the Iron Bull,” she said.

The Iron Bull turned to look at her and gave her a smile, sitting atop a large piece of driftwood and motioning for her to join him. “Have a seat. Krem will bring us drinks shortly I’m sure.”

“That was impressive,” she mused, unable to take her eyes off of his horns.

Bull chuckled, “Yeah, well, when it comes to killing ‘Vints, I get _very_ impressive. No offense, Krem.”

The messenger she’d met before approached and sniped at Bull, “None taken.”

“You remember my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi?” Bull asked Kate.

Krem nodded at Kate. “Good to see you again, Your Worship. We’re about to open the casks.”

Kate laughed, “We won’t be staying long. We’ve got to get back to Haven.”

“Just stopped by to watch the show, yes?” Bull bragged, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head so his muscles bulged.

Kate resisted rolling her eyes again. “And figure out why you asked us here to do so. I’m not sure that the Inquisition needs another mercenary company.”

“That’s just the thing,” Bull replied, leaning in towards her, “You don’t just get my boys – you get me. You need a frontline bodyguard, or just someone to kill shit – I’m your man.”

“So you’d fight with me? How expensive are you?”

“Ah, gold’ll take care of itself. We’ll get everything set up with Josephine, your ambassador.”

“You know Josephine?”

“Well, I know _of_ her. Look, there’s one thing you should know before you say yes: you ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

She had: it had been a topic of strenuous discussion in Ostwick. The nobles had warned each other of the Ben-Hassrath and the qunari and elven spies that were in their employ: it had shaken her stepmother so that she’d implemented an arduous process for any new elven servants to “weed out” any possible Ben-Hassrath. Kate gave him a suspicious look. “They’re qunari spies,” she said bluntly.

“Yeah,” Bull answered, seemingly impressed, “They are. Well, _we_ are.”

“We?”

“Me. I’m Ben-Hassrath. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to those in charge, and send back reports.”

“Erm… okay. And you’re just _telling_ me this?” Kate sputtered.

“Well, yeah. Not like you wouldn’t figure it out sooner or later. But it goes two ways: I also get Ben-Hassrath reports from all over Thedas. Might be useful, might not.”

She considered it: Leliana could keep Bull in check, right? Obviously Leliana would have to read every report that Bull sent home. But the intel within the Ben-Hassrath reports might be invaluable, and she didn’t want to risk Leliana’s wrath if she let the opportunity slip away.

“Okay,” she agreed slowly, “But our spymaster reads every report you send back, got it? Anything shady, and she’ll gut you.”

He laughed, “Sounds good.”

“Then welcome aboard,” she shook his head vigorously and gave him a small smile.

“Krem!” Bull shouted over Kate’s head, “Tell the Chargers to pack up! We just got hired!”

“But. Chief – we just opened the casks! With _axes_.”

“Guess we’ll have to drink on the road,” Bull looked at Kate and shrugged, smirking at the same time. “And, boss?”

“Yeah?”

“I respect the whole ‘wildling’ thing. You’re not the only who can get wild,” Bull smirked.

She tilted her head at him. “As long as your ‘wild streak’ involves killing demons and other assholes, I think I could probably grow to respect it, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some in-game dialogue has been taken directly from Dragon Age Inquisition. Credit to Bioware


	15. Calpernia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I want to believe  
>  All is well that ends well  
> But I just can't convince myself  
> Can't touch the stars  
> Or make them shine  
> Fight the tide until the day we die_
> 
> \- from “Ghosts” by Banners

The tavern at Haven was close to bursting as she entered it, filled with some templars, scouts, and several dwarves who were having a drinking competition. Usually when she entered the building it fell silent, but not tonight. They raised their flagons to her and then went back to whatever debauchery they were getting up to: Sera, in particular, was currently engaged in what looked a _very_ serious conversation with one of the serving girls in the corner.

Kate chuckled to herself and sat down at the bar, smiling at Flissa. “An ale please, Flissa.”

“Of course, Your Worship. It’ll only be a moment.”

She swivelled in her seat to take in the scene around her again, revelling in the peaceful feeling it sent through her. It reminded her so much of home: the singing and dancing and drinking. Stone Bear Hold was especially known for carousing late into the night after their Hold Champion had won a particularly difficult arena competition. It was only when she had turned fourteen that she was allowed to partake in the celebrations, though she’d only ever gone for the singing and dancing – those were her favourite parts. But the summer before her mother had died had been different: her very best friend Adam had been selected as the Hold Champion and had won a bloody match against a rival Hold’s reigning Champion, and the celebration that the Hold had thrown was one that was still talked about. Adam had only been nineteen at the time and was one of the youngest Champions ever to take the arena and win Hakkon’s favour. It had been the most fun she’d ever had, and she’d been so proud of Adam. It had been a special night in more than one way as well as the Champion usually had many women who wanted to bed him, but Adam had only asked her to stay with him that night. He’d told her that night that, when she turned eighteen, he was going to marry her. When she’d laughed at him, he’d told her in all seriousness that he’d already practised untying as many knots as he could in a short time to ensure that the marriage was blessed with many years together.

But nothing was ever permanent in the Frostbacks, though she’d foolishly allowed herself to believe so. It was at the end of that summer that her mother died, and within weeks her father had arrived to take her away. Adam had insisted that they run away before her father got there, but she’d refused. She’d lost her mother and was desperate not to lose the Hold, too. It had only been through repeated pleading that Thane Sun-Hair had agreed to allow her back for the summers, and she hadn’t been willing to live the rest of her life in exile even if it had been at Adam’s side.

Though she had her summer visits, she and Adam slowly grew apart as he won more and more arena bouts as Champion and began to be groomed by Thane Sun-Hair to take over from her one day. Their marriage pact became something of the past, though she’d never forgotten, and she doubted he had as well. She remembered when her mother married Arvid: the Avvar tradition was that the bride would sing a hymn to one of the gods and the groom would attempt to tie as many knots as he could, with the number of knots signifying how long the marriage would last. Her mother had intentionally picked a very long hymn, sung to Korth, as Arvid’s clumsy fingers had worked the twine. At the end of her mother’s long song, at least one of the attendees had fallen asleep, and Arvid had managed to tie fifteen knots. Kate had been so young at the time, that fifteen years had seemed like a lifetime, but her mother died thirteen years into it.

“Permanence is a myth,” she mumbled into the ale that Flissa had given her.

“Ah, Catherine, drinking already are we?” Cullen sidled up beside her, making her jump and spill some ale down her front.

“I’m sorry!” he grabbed a cloth that Flissa had on the bar and passed it to her.

Kate burst into laughter and patted herself down. “Well, at least we know that I’m easy to sneak up on. Guess I’ll have to work on that.”

“May I join you?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “For an _ale_?”

He chuckled and nodded at Flissa, “One ale please, Flissa.”

“Aye, Commander. Good to see you in here. I don’t believe we ever have,” Flissa teased, and Kate smirked at him.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I heard the music and laughter from my tent and couldn’t resist.”

Kate raised her flagon to him. “Welcome to the tavern, then!”

“Thanks,” he laughed, taking the ale Flissa had handed him and surveying the room. “Good to see that the templars are getting to know the Inquisition soldiers. They look like they’re enjoying themselves.”

She tried not to think of Paul, but the ale was loosening her lips. “Paul would have loved this. He loved dancing and music and, well, drinking,” she chuckled, “He would have been right in the thick of it.”

Cullen gave her a pained look. “I wish we could have saved all of them.”

“Me too,” she said quietly.

“We have accounted for those that were missing after Therinfal, thankfully. I suppose that what matters is that we were able to save most of them. The templars will be invaluable.”

She clinked her glass to him and nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”

Cullen took a swig and then closed his eyes and smiled as the bard began to play a traditional Fereldan song. “It’s been ages since I’ve heard this song.”

“It’s a great song,” Kate agreed, laughing as the soldiers began to rise to dance. “A lively one.”

Cullen turned his head to look at her and was about to ask her if she wanted to dance when he was interrupted by one of the soldiers:

“Your Worship, will you dance with me?” the soldier asked, bowing to her and blushing furiously.

She gave Cullen a smirk. “What do you think, Cullen?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “You better not try anything, recruit. And be prepared to be cut in on.”

Kate took the soldier’s hand and joined in a lively jig, dancing around the room wildly to the rousing music, finally feeling free and light as she swept herself up in the music. The soldier twirled her once, twice, and she threw her head back in laughter as he twirled her back around and lead her across the floor once again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen stand from the barstool and begin to clap, a broad smile on his face as he followed her effervescent form around the room.

She tore her eyes from him and back to the soldier, whose face was equally joyful. She saw fingers tap his shoulder, and then was swept into familiar arms. Cullen smiled at her, expertly maneuvering her around the dance floor, his pauldrons draped over the barstool he’d sat at. He looked a little bit smaller without them, but Kate appreciated how strong his shoulders seemed. His hands felt secure within hers and around her waist, and she was impressed at how gracefully he moved to the music and lead her.

“When you told the recruit to be prepared to be cut in on, I wasn’t expecting that it would be you,” she chuckled.

Cullen smiled up at her and shrugged. “You looked like you needed a new partner.”

“I didn’t know that you danced.”

“I don’t,” he laughed, “But this doesn’t feel like ‘dancing’ really, does it? It’s more celebratory and less formal.”

Kate laughed in agreement and tried not to focus on how Cullen seemed to be pulling her closer each time he twirled her out and then brought her back in. Each time she got closer, her arm grasped his firm bicep, and their faces got closer. Lady, she wanted to kiss him again, but this was certainly not the place for the Herald of Andraste to kiss the Inquisition’s Commander. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the rest of the dance, swirling and twirling around the floor and the others upon it until the music stopped and they turned to clap.

She and Cullen returned to the bar and she ordered two more ales from Flissa, clinking cups with Cullen and toasting to the night, “To a moment of celebration amidst all of the trouble.”

As they sat and talked, Kate noticed a dark figure walk through the door of the tavern, but lost it within the still-dancing crowd. She turned her attention back to Cullen, who was now speaking animatedly about some cockamamie idea that Bull had proposed to him, but she found her gut begin to send her anxiety into overdrive thinking about the disappearing figure.

Not two minutes later, Kate caught sight of the figure again, this time moving along the wall towards her. She noticed that the figure’s face was completely obscured by a hood, and her hand fumbled down her calf towards where she kept a dagger strapped to her ankle. As she reached down, the hooded figure approached her and Kate immediately froze. There was something so strange and so... anxious about the figure that she was immediately on guard. Beside her, Cullen also stiffened.

The figure removed her hood.

"Herald of Andraste? I am Calpernia. And I must speak with you."


End file.
